


The Call to Veritas

by Punk_Kenobi



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Legends: Fate of the Jedi Series - Aaron Allston & Troy Denning & Christie Golden, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Capgras' Delusion, Corruption, Cotard's Syndrome, Delusions, Demigods, Disordered Eating, Dubious Consent, Emetophobia, Eventual Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Headaches & Migraines, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jedi/Force Spirituality, M/M, Meditation-Related Flashbacks, Miscommunication, No Coping Skills, Obsessive Behavior, Or what the Jedi can do anyway, Other, Panic Attacks, Poor Obi-Wan, Possession, Psychological Horror, Shapeshifting, Sleep Deprivation, Solitary Confinement, Spirit World, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Fuckery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-10-26 21:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 72,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_Kenobi/pseuds/Punk_Kenobi
Summary: Death isn't the end, he finds, but only the beginning of a nightmare that consumes him in his quest for the truth.





	1. Not Quite Dead and Not Qui-Gon

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I wrote a chapter fic! Yay! Second, this took me about a year to write again. I write slow and edit slower. I also write on my phone so there may be typos. Please let me know. :P Third, this is highly based on the Fate of the Jedi novel series, which is why I have added the additional fandom tag. Consider this a prequel version of the novels, if you've read them, but I don't think you have to have read them to read this. Hell, I only bought the first five books around when I posted the seventh chapter. The wiki has a lot of the info on there already.
> 
> Stranger Things and "Disturbia" by Rihanna are the direct inspirations for this fic. It's gonna be obvious if you squint, even in the first chapter. It will also become obvious quickly that I love(and hate) the Jedi Apprentice YA novel series(See the title). I don't think reading them will be necessary, but I have added some stuff from them. Also, this fic has a TON of my personal headcanons, none of which are canon and therefore me writing them has no bearing on actual canon info. That being said, if you're not cool with a ton of headcanons, this might not be for you. This is an AU, even if it's taking place in the canon universe and not a modern AU.
> 
> As for chapter notes: Not many, though there is a mention of suicide ideation, as indicated in the tags. Please heed those and don't say I didn't warn you. Also, please excuse my change of chapter title. I realized a pun two weeks after posting and I can't resist puns.
> 
> Spoiler alert: The tags WILL change as I update chapters, so be on the lookout if there's something you can't or don't want to read. I care about you all and want to keep everyone safe, but I don't want to compromise the suspense in my story. I'll keep reminding folks to check with each update so that no one's harmed.

_“Master?”_

_Qui-Gon broke his meditative concentration and cracked an eye open. “Hm?”_

_“The Jedi accept their deaths but…what happens after you die? The crèche masters always told us we become a part of the Force, but…” Obi-Wan asked hesitantly, fingering the hem of his tunic._

_“Why would you ask such a thing, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon snuffed out the candle that sat on the table in front of them with his fingers. “That’s not something you should be worried about.”_

_“It’s just…with what happened to Tahl…I-I figured that she may not be one with the Force. Possibly. I-I don’t know.”_

_Qui-Gon visibly flinched. Obi-Wan hadn’t mentioned Tahl since her death months ago. He was still unsure of how tenuous his master’s grip was on the Light, having been so close to losing that grip in her wake, and he was loathe to bring it up. It was frightening how close he was to falling, to become corrupted by his grief just as Xanatos had done. Obi-Wan felt more afraid of his master in the moment when he had to stop Qui-Gon from killing Balog than he was when he’d first become his Padawan. Even closer to adulthood, Qui-Gon’s rage had made him feel smaller and weaker than ever and to rekindle such flame, let alone be consumed by it, would surely leave him in ashes upon the floor. It was something he never wanted to see again from the normally mild-mannered man._

_“She is with the Force, Obi-Wan. Believe me when I say that she is at rest.”_

_Qui-Gon’s face held no emotion save for a flash of grim cynicism. Obi-Wan didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. He never did, truthfully. Qui-Gon was hard to talk with sometimes and often never let on to his true feelings. That was to be expected of such a venerable Jedi, yet Obi-Wan found it made deeper discussion difficult._

_“I do not believe that was the whole truth you were told in the creche, my Padawan.” Qui-Gon mused, rubbing his beard as he did in thought. “The Force is a mysterious thing. Most, upon death, join with it completely and lose their physical forms. They all exist in a realm beyond the line of death where those alive never tread.”_

_Here, Obi-Wan noted a long pause. Qui-Gon was now deep in silent contemplation and he didn’t know what that meant._

_“There are a few who can refuse the fate of death, for a time at least.” Qui-Gon continued after a few moments. “It is an ancient secret known only to few.”_

_“They can refuse death?” Obi-Wan exclaimed. “That’s impossible! Isn’t that immortality?”_

_Qui-Gon’s laugh wasn’t a true chuckle so much as a huff of breath. “It’s not exactly immortality in the common sense, Padawan. Those who learn can become ghosts after they die, separate from their bodies, and stave off the will of the Force for a time until they feel their spirits’ purposes have been fulfilled. Some stay for a short time and others simply never leave this limbo, too busy helping others in their wake even generations after they died. It takes much study and it isn’t permanent. We all join the Force eventually.”_

_“How do you know all this?”_

_Qui-Gon goes quiet again but taps his nose with a small smile. Obi-Wan was floored; his master knew how to become a ghost! His eyes were the size of dinner plates. “Can I do that someday? When can I start learning?”_

_At this, Qui-Gon laughed in earnest, patting his shoulder. “The knowledge will come to you when or if you need it, as it is not an easy process. I’m confident you could do so in the future, however.”_

_Obi-Wan always hated his master’s cryptic statements, frowning._

_“And…what of the Dark Side?” Obi-Wan’s voice lowered. “Are there ghosts there, too?”_

_Curiosity about the Dark Side was always taboo among the Jedi and this seemed like no exception. Qui-Gon’s eyes grew shadowed, as if there were something covering them from the light of the candles that rest upon the low table where they sat on matching meditation mats._

_“Yes, Obi-Wan. Death discriminates against no one. The Dark Side is wily and it will consume you if you let it. Even in death, the Dark can use and abuse your spirit for ill purpose. That’s why the knowledge isn’t given freely but only to those who accept the risk. I have been touched by the Darkness before…I know what it will do lest I let it control me. I’ve nearly killed because of it.”_

_“Then why take the risk?”_

_The set of Qui-Gon’s jaw clearly told Obi-Wan that they were done discussing the matter._

_“I’m sorry, Master.” Obi-Wan bit his lip and worried it between his teeth, looking down at the floor. “I should not pry.”_

_“It is natural curiosity, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon broke his meditative position and turned to face his Padawan. “We naturally desire what we can’t have.”_

_“I don’t want to turn, Master!” Copper hair shook hastily as Obi-Wan tried to dispel any doubt. "Not after…what I saw. When I had to yell at you to stop…”_

_Obi-Wan’s voice was small, the memory coming back to him with frightening clarity. Balog had been moments away from Qui-Gon’s retribution if his voice hadn’t broken the spell of grief that lay over his master’s head. He was the only reason Qui-Gon was not a criminal at the moment, kept in a prison on a planet far away, meant to hold Force-sensitives._

_Qui-Gon’s arms wrapped around his apprentice’s form in an instant. Obi-Wan leaned into the hug gratefully, even though he should not at his age. It was shameful, yet Qui-Gon didn’t seem to mind._

_“Do not let yourself slip down that path, my Padawan. I would not wish it upon anyone, least of all you.”_

_“You don’t have to worry.” Obi-Wan looked up with a small smile._

_Qui-Gon smiled back. It was the first time Obi-Wan saw him smile in months, a shy and closed-off smile but an earnest one. The almost foreign sight made his heart soar. Obi-Wan knew their bond was not the healthiest but it was the only one he had and wouldn’t give it up for anything in the galaxy. He pretended that the hand that rested on top of his was out of love and not merely affection given to a student by their teacher. He would never have his master’s affection, particularly not now and like this. He felt less terrible than he should be for wanting to be what Tahl was to Qui-Gon. The idea that she had been more to Qui-Gon than he could ever be sent a cruel and disgusting shock of jealousy coursing through him. It was a familiar feeling to him, not often felt since his time as an Initiate, and it was just as unpleasant as ever. He released the toxic emotion into the Force and instead replaced it with peace and acceptance._

_He was Qui-Gon’s Padawan. That would have to be enough._

\-----

Qui-Gon lay dying in Obi-Wan’s arms as he cradled his head and rested it on his knee. The stutters Qui-Gon gasped only vaguely pierced the layer of static that had surrounded his hearing, his low voice threaded with thinly veiled pain that leaked into Obi-Wan through their bond.

“You must train the boy…”

Qui-Gon’s breathing was thread and shallow. Obi-Wan ignored the bile rising in his throat as his hand brushed against the wound that lay at the center of his master’s back, warm and weeping.

“Yes, Master.” He replied automatically.

There was no way he could refuse and no possibility of him doing so. He would do whatever Qui-Gon asked of him. If Qui-Gon asked him to join him in the Force right then, he would end his life without a second thought.

As Qui-Gon spoke in his hushed whisper, Obi-Wan felt the pieces of their bond falling apart. Seconds felt like hours before he felt the bond between them shatter messily as Qui-Gon’s gray eyes shut for the last time. In that moment, a loud, sharp throb felt like it broke through his skull as he started to sob uncontrollably, forgoing his emotional training and instead embracing his agony while he screamed his lament to the unknowing, unseeing walls that surrounded him.

With his head throbbing a phantom staccato that matched his shattered bond, Obi-Wan cradled his master’s body to his chest until he knew he had to leave. Though he was loathe to just leave his master here for the droids to find, he had to report to Padme and her guard.

_Qui-Gon deserves so much better than droids. If I can just…_

He struggled to lift the much larger man onto his back, his knees shaking with the effort combined with the exhaustion from battle. Getting past the ray shields was the toughest part Obi-Wan had to endure, his view distorted by tears when he realized they were the only thing that kept him from saving Qui-Gon’s life and now the only thing keeping him away from a decent resting place. The Code kept him walking, the hangar bay passing by in a slow blur as he repeated the personal and sacred mantra ad nauseam. It mutated from the full Jedi version into the version young Initiates recited with every step. The comfort the childish phrasing gave him was helpful against the numb shock he felt.

_Emotion, yet peace._

_Ignorance, yet knowledge._

_Passion, yet serenity._

_Chaos, yet harmony._

_Death, yet the Force._

“Death, yet the Force…death, yet the Force…” Obi-Wan chanted under his breath.

The pain in his head wouldn’t go away, the throbbing resonating with each labored step Obi-Wan took. He returned to Theed Palace after what felt like hours, trudging right into the palace’s main hall. Guards jumped into action and approached warily.

“Kenobi, what are you-“

He put up a Force shield to block them all out, even as the guards followed him, shouting. He couldn’t hear them.

“Death, yet the Force…” Obi-Wan kept muttering.

Padme, in her throne room surrounded by more guards, jumped out of her luxurious chair at the sight of Obi-Wan pausing in the doorway, quaking quite literally in his boots.

“What happened?” Padme asked with a tenuous calm, looking him over.

Guards quickly move to take Qui-Gon from him and Obi-Wan kept blocking them out with his shield. It wasn’t a conscious action entirely, yet Obi-Wan didn’t try to stop it. He couldn’t have Qui-Gon taken from him. Not yet. Not ever. He couldn’t be alone.

“Is Qui-Gon alright?” Padme tried again. “Obi-Wan?”

The pain in Obi-Wan’s head obscured her words, making a verbal reply impossible lest he be sick on the ornate marble floor as bile rose in his throat once again. He settled for shaking his head, gasps erupting from behind him when the guards saw the gaping hole in Qui-Gon’s midsection. Captain Panaka turned to Padme with a look Obi-Wan could read clearly.

“Your Highness, it looks like a wound from a-”

“I-I didn’t do it.” Obi-Wan blurted hastily. “I didn’t, I swear-“

That sent people into action. The guards tried to enter the shield to take Qui-Gon’s body. He clutched Qui-Gon’s arms to his chest, even though he could feel the warmth slowly fading behind him, tears flowing once more down his cheeks when his legs gave out on him, too weak to hold him upright anymore. He cradled Qui-Gon in his lap instead, shaking with exhaustion and effort in keeping the shield up.

“Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan swiveled to look at Padme, his blue eyes dull and deadened despite the wetness. She’d approached and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Let him go. We’ll make sure he’s taken care of. He’ll rest well, Obi-Wan, I promise.”

He would have been offended by the wheedling, condescending tone if his mind weren’t anywhere else. Exhaustion meant he couldn’t hold up the shield any longer, guards approaching him with gentle hands upturned in a gesture of peace. Obi-Wan shut his eyes, unwilling to watch as Qui-Gon was taken from him. Gentle arms wrapped around his shoulders, Padme trying once again to comfort her new friend. Obi-Wan flinched, the intimate position too uncomfortable. He was unable to meet Padme’s eyes the entire time until she let him go, when he stood up uneasily.

“I-I’m sorry, I…” Obi-Wan hated how weak his voice sounded.

Such violent and gory means to defeating an enemy as he had used were harshly prohibited from Jedi doctrine, yet he had just effectively amputated the monster’s legs with no remorse. He’d killed the Sith to avenge his Master, which is what the Sith had been trying to do to them. The sickening implications of that notion set in as Obi-Wan wavered where he stood.

“Don’t worry. I have rooms set up for you if you’d like to rest.” Padme offered, “Anakin’s being watched by the pilots. They’ve taken a liking to him. One of my guard can show you to-”

He’d entirely forgotten about Anakin and right now, he was fine with that ignorance.

“I’ll find them, Your Highness, thank you.” Obi-Wan turned to exit the throne room.

“Are you sure?” Padme’s voice dripped concern.

“I’m fine.” Obi-Wan insisted. “Just let me go to my room, please.”

“Alright.”

With the weight of Qui-Gon on his back gone, he felt he would wither and float away, for sure. Only Padme’s voice brought him back to the ground as he turned his muted gaze back to the throne.

“I will inform the guard to keep this matter private. I don’t know that we can bring him back to Coruscant with all of our ships still reeling from the invasion, but we have cremation chambers for those who believe in the practice. Is that alright, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan only nodded, getting a harsh shock of pain in his head in return, not expecting the headache he felt.

“Of…of course, Your Highness. Thank you.“

A thought occurred to him in that moment, his mind returning to the Code.

_Death, yet the Force._

_Some don’t have to become part of the Force._

_Some can-_

_He’s not dead._

Obi-Wan left with eyes following him out of sight. Still, he had business to take care before he could rest. Finding his guest quarters, he immediately opened a comm channel to the Temple, alerting that he needed to speak with the Council immediately. Once put into contact via holo, he began the speech he had prepared on the walk from the throne room.

“Council members, I have grave news to report.”

“Yes, Kenobi?” Mace nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

Obi-Wan tried to stand tall for the holo-recorder but it was tough. All he wanted to do was collapse onto the four-poster bed and never get up. He didn’t have the strength to be what he had to be right now. Qui-Gon had sapped it of him.

“I…have to report that the Sith has made another appearance. I’m fairly certain that they have returned in earnest this time.”

There were mutters throughout the Council’s image, all of which held a grave tone.

“I…incapacitated him briefly, but he fled the scene before I could pursue.” Obi-Wan continued.

The small lie wasn’t entirely wrong. He believed the Sith dead, but with these appearances, the Sith Master would have to be around as well. If it were implied the Sith was dead, the Council would once again lower its guard, opening the Jedi to further attack. Besides, the Council would question him on how the Sith died and Obi-Wan didn’t want to answer that.

“You?” Saesee asked. “Where was Master Jinn? A Padawan shouldn’t take on a Sith, apprentice or not.”

“He…”

Qui-Gon was a ghost but he hadn’t shown up yet. There was no need to say that his master had died but that was also the technical truth, of which he did have to give to the Council this time. Obi-Wan’s words stuck in his throat, swallowing a couple of times.

“Obi-Wan?” Kit asked curiously, his large eyes limpid and full of concern.

He watched the entire room, reluctant to tell them the news. Plo Koon tapped his fingers in the way he did when subtly agitated, but it was also a signal of pain that Plo was controlling. Throwing up his strongest shields, Obi-Wan watched as Plo quickly paused his finger tapping. Obi-Wan paused before taking a breath. Their bond from his childhood hadn’t closed entirely. Master Plo’s face crumpled behind the mask into a look of contemplation, but Obi-Wan knew his sorrow when he saw it. Everyone else simply looked expectant.

“Qui-Gon Jinn is dead, Master Windu, by the Sith’s hand.”

He winced as he couldn’t hide the wobble in his voice but his face remained stoic and composed. Apparently the façade was not enough to hide his true emotions. The Council regarded him with quick glances while they muttered to each other in a hushed, concerned tone. It was clear they believed him regarding the Sith’s murder and the murder of Qui-Gon, but they were left as in the dark as Jedi could be.

Obi-Wan swayed where he stood, trying not to show his fatigue. Luckily, none of the Council noticed.

“Obi-Wan should be sent back to Coruscant immediately.” Plo spoke up when they were done convening, a rare thing in the chamber.

“Agreed.” Shaak-Ti nodded. “He will need to be seen by the Healers. The young boy with him needs to be brought to the Temple as soon as possible anyway.”

“I don’t need the Healers.” Obi-Wan protested over holoprojection in his quarters. “I feel fine.”

“Obi-Wan…I’m sure you believe that but we’ll need to confirm that you can, in fact, be Knighted at all.” Ki-Adi responded. “You have struggled like this for years.”

“I just…I need time, Master.” He pressed, fidgeting his hands behind his back. “I need time, need…”

Obi-Wan trailed off as his head began to pound even harder, trying to push the pain into the Force as he’d been taught, balling his hands into fists.

“Obi-Wan, focus.” Plo prodded.

“…Master Qui-Gon has to be cremated.” He finished, resisting the urge to hold his head. “I can’t leave yet.”

“Obi-Wan, we don’t suggest this lightly.” Mace frowned from over the holocast. “You need to treat this before it becomes a problem.”

Obi-Wan knew to what problem Master Windu referred. It was possible and, in fact, common for Padawans to fall if their Masters were killed in battle. It happened fairly recently with the rumors of that one girl, Ventress, on Ratatak with Master Narec. The Council was afraid he would do the same, particularly due to his troubled and angered past.

“I’m treating it by seeing Master Qui-Gon into the Force, Master Windu. I’ll be back once the Naboo celebrations have completed and I finish the work Master Qui-Gon started.”

“Very well.” Mace sighed, clearly unwilling to argue further or agree with his judgment. “Watch the child, Kenobi. If Qui-Gon wished to train the boy, I think you should consider the same.”

“I will, I don’t need to consider it.”

“No longer a Padawan, you will be. Time, there is not, for a ceremony.”

“I know, Master Yoda. After Qui-Gon’s…funeral, I will do what I must.”

“Deeply sorry, I am, for Qui-Gon’s passing.” Yoda’s expression softened from his normal scowl. “Hard for you, this must be.”

Obi-Wan stared in silence for a few seconds before he cut the transmission off.

_Hard for you, this must be…_

It was impossible for Yoda to understand how he felt. Looking out the window, the sunset loomed over the city. Red spilled onto the waterfalls in the distance, painting everything in an orange glow. Obi-Wan held his head in his hands, feeling vertigo grip him as memories that seem so distant come back.

_Qui-Gon in his arms, his voice, weak and gritty with the blood that bubbled in his lungs…the way his eyes glazed over in his final moments, the gentle brush of cold fingers on his cheek…_

While the Council had not noticed Obi-Wan’s discomfort the entire time, they did notice as Obi-Wan’s eyes rolled back and he plummeted to the floor with a cry of pain. The Council’s concerned voices soon turned from white noise to silence as Obi-Wan tossed his holocomm unit at the wall. Shattered pieces scattered around the room as Obi-Wan soon knew no more, too exhausted and in pain to function.

\-----

In the quiet cremation room later that evening, Obi-Wan stood somber yet composed. He allowed no fatigue or pain to show, not here. Qui-Gon’s body burned in front of his eyes and he felt his mind and broken bond scream in parallel agony, leaving his head aching and with a migraine he couldn’t sate. He had to be the picture of Jedi Knighthood here where everyone else struggled to keep composure. The ceremony was nice, if foreign. As people filed slowly out of the chamber afterward, Qui-Gon’s body still burning low, Obi-Wan stayed back and pulled up his hood farther, obscuring his tear-tracked face. Pulling a knife out of a pocket with a shaking hand, Obi-Wan considered the now charred figure in front of him, covered in a thick shroud.

_His robes. They’re Qui-Gon’s robes._

His fingers fumbled with the very top of his braid, nerves freezing him into immobility. He wouldn’t let anyone else have this part of him, not when it wasn’t anyone’s creation but Qui-Gon’s alone. The braided lock of hair reached all the way down to his chest, yet he felt as if the day it was created was so recent and not over a decade before on a starship from Bandomeer to Gala, still high from being chosen as a Padawan at last. He lifted the knife to the side of his head, pausing only at his throat for a moment before a memory brought him back to an abandoned mine shaft. The feeling of metal at his throat reminded him of a heavier weight, one loaded with explosives that he nearly detonated only to save Qui-Gon.

_“There has to be another way!"_

_“_ _There is no other way, and you know it. Now stand back."_

_"No, I won’t! I order you not to do this, Obi-Wan!"_

_“If I don't do this, we fail our mission."_

_“My life is not worth more than yours."_

_"Yes, Qui-Gon, it is and you know it. I was left here to die because I wasn’t good enough for you.”_

_“Obi-Wan, please-!”_

_“Let me go, Qui-Gon…it is my time.”_

_“No, wait!”_

Obi-Wan pulled the knife away from his throat, not realizing he’d been holding his breath, preparing to slice it as easily as he would have pressed the button on the transmitter of his Force-dampening collar all that time ago. Still, he stayed his hand as he watched Qui-Gon burn.

_If he didn’t want me to die for him when I was a teenager…_

He cut through the braid in one go with a quiet sound before letting the knife fall from his hand with a clatter. Obi-Wan’s neutral frown trembled as he laid the lock in the dying fire, shutting his eyes against the sight and let his hand stay too close to the fire for a second too long. Hissing at the slight burn, he knelt on the ground in front of the pyre to meditate, to try and find Qui-Gon.

He couldn’t find him.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes next, the braid was gone. Everything was, save for a pile of ash. The sun had reappeared on the other side of the room, bathing the room in bright sunlight that hurt his eyes and head. One of the pilots stood at the entrance to the chamber, Anakin in his arms, casting a long shadow on the chamber.

“I…we were looking for you, sir. Anakin was asking for you, he was worried.”

“I didn’t know where you were.” Anakin frowned. “I thought I lost you so I stayed with Padme for the night.”

Obi-Wan felt something drop in his stomach and tug at his heart, though he nodded and stood without showing a thing. “Of course, my apologies.”

“Not at all, you’re in…” The pilot tapered off, both knowing that nothing more needed to be said. “…here.”

“I’m here, yes.”

Obi-Wan took Anakin into his arms and realized that the boy was skin and bone. Unacceptable. He was now this child’s master and caretaker. He had to do better than Qui-Gon had done with him. The neglect and mixed signals were unhealthy, he knew, and he wouldn’t put Anakin through that. Heading towards the palace for breakfast, Obi-Wan shook his head.

_I still want him back, though. I must be mad._

Later, early night moon shone through the window of his bedroom. The faded light was broken and muted by the window’s frosted upper section, bathing the room in a dull glow. The bottles of Nabooian liquor were a gift from the Queen, though Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if it was out of condolences or happiness at the success of the battle. Either way, the liquor now went down smoothly, leaving his thoughts a muddied haze. The sound of shattering glass from a distance only amplified the pain in Obi-Wan’s head, uncaring that he caused his own pain. He sobbed into his knees, hugging them into his chest while a second bottle of liquor dangled precariously in his hand.

“Master, please, speak to me! I know you’re there! I feel you, please say something!” He lamented. “You’ve always been this stubborn…”

The small body that settled next to him on the floor startled Obi-Wan out of his desperation.

“Anakin! You shouldn’t be here…” Obi-Wan murmured into his hands.

It was late at night, long past when Anakin should have been in bed. Yet here he was, sitting next to him as he tried to hold his emotional outburst in with a hiccup, if only to put on a good façade for his new student. Obi-Wan’s head throbbed with rebuilding intensity, driving him crazy. Digging the heels of his palms into his forehead, he tried to sober up enough to interact, processing the alcohol in his body with the Force.

“Have you slept, Master?”

Obi-Wan looked up at the quiet question to see the guileless face now twisted in concern that looked far too comfortable for someone so young.

_He must have worried over his mother like this._

“No…no, I’m-I’m fine,” He tried not to slur while rubbing his eyes, but he just sounded worse to his ears. “I mean…I’ve tried to…maybe had a bit too much to drink if I’m honest…”

“Oh…Mom said that you should drink milk if you’ve been drinking. It’s the next best thing to water. You can’t waste water on drunks who decide to drink their lives away.”

Obi-Wan snorted and tossed the empty second bottle away in the small bin next to him after downing the last few swigs.

“Oh, really? Is that what you think of me, then?”

He would smack himself later for saying such a thing, but right now he was just irritated.

“I just think you’re sad.” Anakin fidgeted with the hem of his tunic nervously. “People mostly drink when they’re sad, but not all sad people are drunks. Drunks are people who lay around all day dying in the desert instead of working.”

“Is that so?” Obi-Wan hastily covered a hiccup by coughing. “Well, that sounds unpleasant…”

“I had to help Watto at the podraces sometimes. He’d go to the cantinas afterward and I’d hang out outside with the other kids, but occasionally we’d make a game of seeing who could stay inside longest without getting hurt. We weren’t allowed in, you see.”

Obi-Wan looked down at the boy, then back to his knees as he leaned back on the wall. His head connected dully with the stone as he bit his lip, chewing on it out of anxiety. An idea came to him as Anakin smiled proudly.

“Tell me…tell me about that. Tell me about the other kids, what were they like?”

He didn’t truly care about Anakin’s eager rambling, though he felt loathe to get Anakin’s excitement up for nothing. He just wanted to keep Anakin talking so he didn’t feel so alone. The feeling was utterly pervasive and invasive, ripping into him with brutality he had never felt before. Pretty soon he was crying again, though he managed to keep it quiet so Anakin didn’t notice, too absorbed in telling a story.

“Master, are you okay?”

Obi-Wan tried to focus on the figure that now stood in front of him. He wouldn’t be feeling any better tonight so he should rest before the big celebrations tomorrow. The raucousness was going to take a toll on him that he wasn’t prepared for.

“Hey.” He tried to stand up and thankfully, he could without difficulty while deflecting the question. “You need sleep, Anakin.”

“Okay.” Anakin nodded tiredly and yawned to prove his point. “So do you, Master.”

Anakin held his hand again and Obi-Wan’s heart stuttered in confusion. That title felt too foreign, too unusual to be targeted toward him. He wasn’t worthy of it. Too late, Obi-Wan realized he had said his last thought aloud, wincing. It was clear that Anakin wanted to protest that opinion but he didn’t. Instead, the hand holding his tightened compassionately.

“Come on, go to bed.” Anakin smiled up at him, though Obi-Wan could tell blearily that he wasn’t happy. “I’ve upset you enough.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, which made the world spin dangerously while they walked the short distance. “No, no, I’m not upset, not with you…”

“I know.” Anakin agreed. “It’s about Qu-“

“Don’t.” Obi-Wan cut him off, too afraid of breaking into more tears. “You should go to bed.”

“I…yeah.” Anakin conceded. “Okay, Master.”

Anakin left without a sound, leaving Obi-Wan floundering. As he settled into his own bed, he wondered how he’d been allowed to have this happen. How far he had fallen in only a matter of days…it was shameful. No Jedi worth their mettle would be acting in such a deplorable manner and yet…

Obi-Wan slept poorly.

\-----

The next morning, Obi-Wan knelt on the ornate tile floor of the guest bathroom, his chest heaving and his sweat-soaked body shaking. Nightmares had plagued him the night before and he had woken up nauseated and clammy, which meant he rushed to the bathroom and promptly draped himself over the toilet. Still, he had to be present for the Naboo celebration later on in the day. Obi-Wan cleaned himself up in the ‘fresher once he could stand up and his legs shook less, feeling no less filthy and numb than he had since this had all begun. He felt hollowed out, gutted, and he’ll be left to the galaxy’s scrutiny standing in front of cheering crowds.

Obi-Wan made sure Anakin was woken up, fed, and then dressed in his new clothes. They were Padme’s gift to Anakin, custom-tailored or hand-picked by friends of hers. Warm fabrics were chosen and Obi-Wan remembered while picking out an acceptable outfit that the boy still struggled with the cooler temperatures of other planets and space travel. Anakin, on his part, was overjoyed to have something nice and warm to wear, if simple in its design. His outfit was very close to his old clothing but it fit better and felt softer to the touch, which Anakin loved. He sat still obediently while Obi-Wan combed his hair into as neat of a style as the blond mop could manage. With trembling fingers, Obi-Wan struggled to braid a short lock of Anakin’s hair into the beginnings of a Padawan braid, fumbling several times with the familiar motions.

“I want you to be careful with that, alright?” he said quietly as he finished the braid with a tiny bead he’d found and let Anakin go. His shoulders sagged in exhaustion but he forced a smile onto his face. He had to start doing that. Grief was only acceptable to show for a short period of time and for Jedi, it was disallowed entirely. “Don’t let it get tangled or I’ll have to redo it.”

“Aw, cool!” Anakin jumped up and down with delight. “Does this mean I’m a Jedi like you?”

“You will be, just as Master Qui-Gon promised.” Obi-Wan straightened up Anakin’s outfit and let him go. He still felt like a Padawan now, despite his insistence upon becoming a Knight before this had all begun. “Go show Padme, I’m sure she’ll love your new outfit.”

As Anakin ran off, Obi-Wan watched the little braided nub, remembering when his was only that long.

_He sat in Qui-Gon’s quarters on the way to Gala while his new master made tea for the both of them, a tea set borrowed from the ship’s pilot. He was fidgety and unsure of himself, trying to appear more composed and calm than he was. Teens weren’t given the same leniency for acting excitable as young Initiates were and Qui-Gon seemed to be a strict teacher. He was excited for the life of a Jedi that he was about to start. He had thought of nothing less for himself._

_Qui-Gon came back with the tea in mere minutes, smiling kindly. Obi-Wan reciprocated, holding onto the edge of the bed._

_“I don’t generally make the braiding a formal procedure. I just prefer it to be natural.”_

_“That’s fine.” Obi-Wan agreed. “Can we do it now?”_

_“If you want.” Qui-Gon settled down on the bed beside him, drinking his tea and closing his eyes. “But first, we must relax.”_

_“Master!” Obi-Wan frowned, harrumphing in frustration as he was given his own cup._

_Qui-Gon opened one eye from where he sat in perfect Jedi posture, grinning mischievously._

_“Live in the now. That is my first piece of advice for you and one you will likely hear from me many times. Let things happen, Obi-Wan, do not force their hand or hold them back. The Force moves and you must move with it, else you be pushed along against your will.”_

_Obi-Wan schooled his expression into bemused neutrality as Qui-Gon set his teacup down on the small nightstand along with the teapot._

_“But this is no lesson.” Qui-Gon smiled. “We just came from a very difficult mission. Come here.”_

_Obi-Wan squeaked as he was pulled into his master’s lap. Rough-textured, yet gentle fingers grasped at a good length of hair to start braiding. He would think it rude yet the promise of being a Padawan meant more to him than his master’s eccentricity._

_“We’ll have to get the rest of your hair cut in the traditional way, of course.” Qui-Gon mused. “No more shaggy hair for you.”_

_“But yours is long!” Obi-Wan nearly turned around to whine but Qui-Gon gently kept him in place. “Why can’t mine be that way?”_

_“For starters, you might accidentally have it shorn off by a stray lightsaber swing or blaster bolt. Believe me, it’s not terribly nice to have to grow your hair out again because of a mistake. Have you smelled the scent of burnt hair?”_

_“No.” Obi-Wan fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. “I remember when Quin burned his boots with a training saber, though, and they smelled awful.”_

_“Well, this will be worse, I can assure you.”_

_Qui-Gon focused on his task, fingers dexterous with experience, and Obi-Wan felt as if it had taken a long time to complete. Qui-Gon secured the tiny braid with a bead and set Obi-Wan on his feet._

_“There.” He patted Obi-Wan’s shoulder and set him back on his feet. “Your Padawan braid.”_

_Obi-Wan blinked owlishly, his fingers coming up to feel the small lock of hair, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb._

_“It’s so small…” Obi-Wan frowned. “I hope it grows soon. Quin’s reaches his shoulder already.”_

_“It will, Padawan mine. Give it time. Everything takes time to grow and thrive.” Qui-Gon gestured to the viewport, Obi-Wan clamoring to look outside of it. ”The galaxy did not come into existence in a day, it took many millions of years to become as thriving with life as it is now.”_

_Obi-Wan nodded dumbly, feeling as if the advice was too mature for him to understand._

_“Besides…Padawan Vos is putting years on Tholme with his recklessness. Don’t tell him I told you.” Qui-Gon flashed him a wink. “That’s for Tholme saying I smell like a Rodian and look like a neglected bantha. Old bat doesn’t know what he’s talking about, I’m surrounded by flowers and I’m drinking them, too.”_

_Obi-Wan laughed in earnest as Qui-Gon positively pouted and took a sip of his tea. It was Qui-Gon’s favorite blend and Obi-Wan liked it, too. He felt his anxiety lessen quickly. Master Qui-Gon was unusual, rather frustrating sometimes, but he could get used to that if it meant he could stay his Padawan._

Now Obi-Wan looked around the quarters they were given as he changed into clean clothes, spotting one of the Nabooian lilies Qui-Gon loved by the window. He wondered if Qui-Gon had been right in his prediction as he tried to water the thing but to no avail. Petals fell into the pot in browned, crumpled pieces as he touched the plant. It almost seemed as if it had died as soon as he’d touched it, but that couldn’t have been. He never was good with plants anyway. Qui-Gon always told him to leave them alone. He certainly felt like the lily in that moment, with dark circles growing under his eyes from the stress of the mission and the pain in his head keeping him awake all night along with his nightmares. His body felt wretched. His mind felt clogged and numb.

_Maybe I’ve never thrived at all,_ he thought cynically.

His head pounded as the noise of the city waking up to celebrate gathered around the palace.

“Master Obi-Wan!” Anakin appeared in his doorway. “Come on, Sabé says it’s time to go outside.”

He didn’t want to do this at all.

“Alright, Anakin, I’ll be right there.”

Obi-Wan followed Padme’s handmaiden into the main hall of the palace.

“You’ll be going out and answering questions the media have for you first.” Sabé explained. “The parade and speeches are afterward.”

“Understood.” Obi-Wan walked at a brisk pace, Anakin keeping up easily. “Anything to avoid?”

“Whatever your Jedi Order would think is private, sir.” Sabé turned to him and stopped. “I think you may have more authority to judge than I do.”

Obi-Wan nodded, not looking Padme in the eye when she arrived. He had been utterly grief-ridden the last few times he’d seen her.

“Your Majesty.”

“Obi-Wan.” She replied, foregoing his title. “Are you ready to go out there?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Obi-Wan flashed her a smile that he had practiced.

Guards stood vigilant outside on the steps outside the palace as they emerged. He smiled for the cameras as they gathered around for pictures and statements outside, giving the media what they wished of him. In truth, he really hated dealing with the media and their clamoring for information.

“What is your opinion on the state of the Trade Federation as it stands?”

“Where do you think Naboo will go in terms of further treaties with the Gungans?”

“How difficult was it to organize the assault on the Separatists?”

“How does it feel to be dubbed the “Sith-Slayer?”

Obi-Wan whirled around, a surge of anxiety rising up in him. “Who said that?”

His expression turned dour as one sandy-haired Nabooian came over, holo-recorder in hand. Obi-Wan looked in Padme’s direction. She had _promised_ to keep everything under control and that her guards were not to speak of anything they had seen. Padme only shrugged in return, too busy with five or six microphones held to her to intervene.

“A lot of the guards say you killed a Sith.” The reporter mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “How was that?”

Obi-Wan decided to take the bait. He hadn’t slept and his grasp on polite etiquette was already waning so early in the day, so he bit. He leaned in close to the journalist’s recorder, looking him straight in the eyes, slowly pushing the holo-recorder down with a hand.

“Do you even know what a Sith is, my good man?” Obi-Wan hissed. “Is anyone in your little office likely to know what a Sith is? Have you even heard of one before the guards told you?”

The journalist clearly floundered where he stood, Obi-Wan feeling the waves of sudden anxiety wafting off of him. “No…not really. You’re a Jedi, you tell m-”

“Have the guards spoken to anyone else?” Obi-Wan stepped closer.

“No, I don’t think so…” The journalist’s eyebrows knitted in thought. “The other outlets didn’t care to interview them, I-I was just doing my job-“

Obi-Wan slowly waved his hand when the man looked back up at him, his position a couple stairs above somewhat imposing.

“You were doing nothing.”

The reporter quaked in his shoes when Obi-Wan waved a hand in front of his face.

“You will not post anything about this on the holonet.” Obi-Wan droned. “You will go home and forget about this conversation. You will forget about the Sith.”

_“I will not post anything about this on the holonet.”_ The journalist repeated with a devoid expression, turning around. _“I will go home and forget about this conversation. I will forget about the Sith.”_

Obi-Wan let out a haggard sigh as the reporter walked away, jostling himself through the crowd. He listened closely for other reporters talking about the same thing, answering others in a terse manner. The Council wouldn’t want word of the Sith’s return getting out so soon and in such a way. The Jedi Order carefully monitored its information, which meant that anything regarding the Force and those trained in it was private. Obi-Wan wondered what tabloid the man had been associated with, for it had to be a tabloid as no informational publication would be that crass, but decided to forget about it.

He did the bare minimum to show his enthusiasm for the people of Naboo during the main festivities, waving, smiling, and nodding where necessary. Considering that this was likely their first sight of a Jedi, Obi-Wan had to try and appear friendly to promote peace and wellbeing, despite having neither trait. His migraine hadn’t ceased and only intensified with his hangover, leaving the bright sun, cheering crowds, and upbeat music all sources of pain during the festivities. When he looked down at Anakin, he wondered how he was going to be able to succeed as a Knight when his own teacher doubted him so soon before death. Qui-Gon would have taught Anakin well, even if it meant he were forced out of his master’s tutelage. In truth, he never wanted to leave Qui-Gon’s side, but Qui-Gon in his stubborn insistence took the boy on anyway, casting him off. It hurt so much, the passive dismissal in the Council’s chamber, yet not as much as it did now with Qui-Gon absent.

_He’s not absent. He’s here with us, I’m sure of it._

“Are you okay?” Anakin’s small hand reached up to hold his hand. “You look like you haven’t slept again. Mom had that look a lot.”

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably with the mention of Shmi. He had never wanted to leave her behind, particularly when Qui-Gon told him they’d only be taking Anakin, but he’d had no say. Qui-Gon was already on thin ice with the Council as it was and taking Anakin on was the last straw. There was no way they’d allow a non-Force sensitive to come to the Temple with no qualifications or any forms of identity, not even as an employee. She’d have been left with the Coruscanti refugee agencies if not the immigration ones, and Obi-Wan knew well that those often led nowhere if not to low-paying and unsafe lives in the deepest levels of the city. Shmi wouldn’t have been much better off aside from her freedom. Then, that was all she likely could have wanted from life. He wondered just how she was faring right now, then decided it was better he didn’t. Seething displeasure rose in him at the thought of Qui-Gon consciously leaving her on Tattooine, making his head throb dangerously.

“I’m fine.” He replied outwardly, too lost in thought to respond further as Padme began to speak, the crowd hushed into relative silence. “Pay attention to Padme’s speech.”

“I don’t believe you, Master Obi-Wan. Mom did that, too.” Anakin frowned and turned back to listen. “She told me she was fine, too.”

Obi-Wan winced again. He had had enough of this for one day, leaving the outdoor stage quietly and without preamble. If anyone asked, he would claim Jedi business.

No one noticed his absence.

Similarly, no one said much to him as they were about to leave for Coruscant the next day. Perhaps he was too awkward to be around now that he was still mourning Qui-Gon’s loss. Perhaps he had become too unpleasant. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what it was but nearly everyone avoided him. For the most part, he appreciated the distance. He watched as Anakin hugged Padme’s legs hard.

“Farewell, Ani.” Padme smiled as Anakin pulled away, wrapping a hand around the strap of his backpack proudly.

“I’m going to miss you.” Anakin replied sadly, holding her hands. “But I gotta become a Jedi and free the slaves. Isn’t that right, Master Obi-Wan?”

“Right, Anakin.” Obi-Wan patted the boy’s shoulder before heading into the cockpit of the ship.

Quiet footsteps followed him, pausing at the doorway before entering.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you, Obi-Wan.” Padme rested a hand on his shoulder and this time, Obi-Wan didn’t flinch away.

“I think the festivities were enough.” Obi-Wan replied shortly, typing in commands. “I don’t drink, you know, and many of the vendors were pressing me to do so.”

“Yes, but you and-“

“He led everything. I just followed his orders and that’s it.” Obi-Wan scowled at the readings on the console, trying to maintain his breathing. “There’s nothing honorable about that.”

Padme went silent for a few moments. “Are you-“

“If you’re about to ask if I’m alright, it doesn’t matter.” Obi-Wan turned around to face her. “Anakin is under my tutelage now, so I have to do as best I can regardless.”

“That’s not-!”

“It is the Jedi way, Padme.” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Qui-Gon would want me to be this way for Anakin’s sake.”

Padme stood behind him for several minutes in silence. Obi-Wan was about to ask her to leave when she spoke again.

“Qui-Gon would want you to be happy.”

Padme’s footsteps echoed around the shuttle as she left and Obi-Wan gazed at the console, eyes misting over as he typed in the coordinates for Coruscant into the computer.

“I can’t be without him.” He whispered.

\-----

_Good evening, Qui-Gon._

_I have brought Anakin to the Temple, as you wanted. However, much of his training as of now is in the crèche, leaving me little to do as a teacher. As a Knight, I too have been idle, as the Council does not trust me to travel so soon after your…after Naboo. I fear Anakin will not create a training bond with me since he trains with the crèche masters now! From what I’m told, he’s excelling at everything they give him, but in all honesty, I wouldn’t know. He’s gone from me so long that I do not see him much anymore._

_So you are, as well._

_Why did you have to leave me? It’s kriffing inconvenient, excuse my language, leaving me here without help. You were always a better teacher than I, Qui-Gon. I am only twenty-six, barely a Knight, and now I must teach this boy. I’m not ready yet. I don’t have the experience of other Knights my age. I don’t hold the wisdom of decades of Jedi life. I’m not filled with the same knowledge of the galaxy and the Living Force as you were. Please speak with me, I need you to tell me how to do this. Anakin is slipping out of my grasp and I’m afraid he may choose another master to train under! I have no experience…Qui-Gon, I’m not you, I need you, tell me how I can-_

_No. Wait._

_I know how I can find you. Come morning, I will try to contact you, Qui-Gon. Please talk to me when I try. Please. I need you. I can’t do this on my own._

_I love you. Don’t leave me alone._

\-----

There was quiet in the education chamber. The only sounds were the occasional beeps of the planetarium whirring to life under Obi-Wan’s fingers and his heartbeat in his ears. Tiny dots of light flickered into existence around him and swathed the dimly lit room in pinpoints of brightness. At first, a spike of despair rushed through him when he realized Qui-Gon might not be able to reach him, his spirit lost and broken without joining the Force. Obi-Wan had to try anyway. The Unifying Force was different from the Living Force, certainly, but perhaps it could lead Qui-Gon’s spirit to him, one star or planet at a time. Their broken bond caused the pain he felt now, Obi-Wan was sure. It had to be a sign that Qui-Gon was trying to contact him. Why else would it persist otherwise?

“Zoom out, two-hundred percent.” Obi-Wan ordered the computer.

The view multiplied, showing entire star systems as the galaxy was displayed on a giant three-hundred and sixty degree map. Obi-Wan knelt in the middle of the circular dais, as if in meditation, staring up at the projected galaxy above. Around him, the stars revolved slowly. Blue eyes, red-rimmed and dark-circled from continued exhaustion and nightmare-induced panics, scanned for any signs. This was a last resort. The method was too primitive and was unlikely to garner a response. For hours, Obi-Wan searched until the dots blurred together as well as his thoughts. No signs were given to him, no vision of Master Qui-Gon. All of the prophetic visions the Council seemed to have and abide by, by Obi-Wan’s reckoning, were a farce. They could no more predict the future than he could find Qui-Gon.

“You must be here somewhere.” Obi-Wan lamented, bowing his head. “Please, let me find you…”

From the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan swore one of the stars blinked without his input. There was no information on the planet. It was nestled in an abandoned area of the Kessel Run, though there was little information given to him about the area of blackness among stars. A tinny, robotic voice greeted Obi-Wan when he tried to access more.

_Warning: You do not have clearance for this information. Please input valid security code for access or request an audience with an authorized Temple Archivist for more information. Security Type/Level: Mortis-3_

“Kriff.” Obi-Wan sighed. The Jedi legend held nothing for him, it being a curiosity and nothing more. “I-I guess this was a waste of time…”

The stars blinked again, slow enough for Obi-Wan to watch each one. The computer read each planet’s name, cut off before it could begin the commentaries associated with the planet’s access. The voice spoke his name, making Obi-Wan sit up ramrod straight.

“Master!” Obi-Wan could have wept with joy at the mention of his name. He gripped the console with white-knuckled fingers.

_Hurts…_

“Master, are you in danger?!” Obi-Wan’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

_Help me…monster…_

The voice was even more cut up now. Fragments of the planets’ names were read out and the planets blinked simultaneously, the sensory overload enough to worsen Obi-Wan’s perpetual headache. Everything blurred into a harsh static that went on for a minute. Obi-Wan had to cover his ears, keening as his head felt as if it were being sliced with knives at the input, the migraine worsening.

_Dathomir…_

“…Dathomir?” Obi-Wan rubbed his temples, kneading furiously to remove the pain and release it to the Force, panting. “What about it?”

There was a pregnant pause, Obi-Wan holding his breath before letting it out in frustration.

“Master, what’s going on?!” Obi-Wan shouted to nothing. “Qui-Gon! Speak to me!”

No response further came to him as the room’s speakers fizzled and crackled into silence, filling the large chamber. Obi-Wan practically snapped out of frustration when the tinny voice asked for input.

“Shut up!”

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he choked back a sob. He wished idly that he could stay in this room, watching the stars to find the messages Qui-Gon sent him.

For now, he left to go pick up Anakin from the creche. He would have to come back.

With each stray moment he had, Obi-Wan returned to the salle. The stars held nothing for him to see, however, but he was determined to wait for another message. The salle was often disused with another, improved salle holding classes for Initiates. That meant he could easily stay in there for hours, even spending a sleepless night studying the stars in growing frustration.

“Why won’t you answer me, Qui-Gon? I know you’re alive! Stop being so stubborn and talk to me, you-!”

The stars and planets swirled around his hunched form, utterly uncaring of his pain. Doubling over on the floor for the fourth time in as many hours, his head split open with pain yet again and Obi-Wan fought to keep from screaming as the throbbing morphed into a completely new level of torture that was becoming unbearable in its intensity. This was no migraine, yet Obi-Wan refused to do anything about it.

_Is this Qui-Gon talking with me? Through our broken bond? Master, what are you doing? Please stop, it hurts so much, you can’t-!_

Only his sense of someone approaching outside the room brought him back to the world around him, schooling his face mind to calm even though tear tracks still lined his face, raising a hand to wipe them away hastily. A crèche master appeared in the doorway, calm and confused, when he looked back up. Curious Initiates, some of the youngest, crowded around her knees and peered at him owlishly.

Obi-Wan sat up straighter in his meditative pose. He composed himself further into image of Jedi calm, if only for the sake of the younglings and their newfound Jedi discipline. He recognized the master from his younger years as the Initiate Astronomy teacher. Obi-Wan couldn’t recall her name now, his mind too muddled. She, however, could recall his just fine.

“Are you alright, Knight Kenobi?” She asked with a raise of here eyebrow ridges.

“I’m fine, Master.” He mumbled, looking away. “Preoccupied.”

Tal Koon’s face, hidden by the same mask and eye covers that all Kel-Dor wore, expressed unspoken worry, an expression that he often saw on a very similar face growing up in the creche. Supposedly, this Kel-Dor was Master Plo’s sibling, though no one knew for sure. The family all kept to themselves so few knew of their precise connections. Only through his childhood friendship with Plo had he learned that the Koon family was famous on Dorin for heralding Force-sensitives and that many of them were in the Temple here or stationed on other planets.

The master’s worried expression soon schooled back to calm. Crèche masters were often more emotional than Jedi Knights by their nature, which made them more adept at their careers raising children to be kind and compassionate.

“I have a class scheduled at this time. Surely, you must have seen the reservation on the door panel? The main astronomy chamber is having repairs made to the computer.”

“I…my apologies, Master Koon.” Obi-Wan replied coolly. He stood from his place on the dais with a slight and almost imperceptible sway, shutting off the computer with a command sheepishly. “I must have missed the alert.”

“Hm…perhaps you should speak to someone regarding your preoccupation with Master Jinn-“

“Stop poking around in my mind!” Obi-Wan interjected harshly. “I’m fine, you don’t need to meddle!”

He realized seconds too late how harsh his tone was when the Initiates flinched backwards at his approach. Obi-Wan tried to calm himself, instead only finding anxiety in his wake.

“I-I really am fine, Master, I’ll just return to my quarters for some sleep.”

“I don’t think-” she tried as he got up from where he knelt.

“Good day, Master Koon.”

The Kel-Dor’s gaze followed him as Obi-Wan shuffled past the anxious younglings and out of the salle. He wasn’t as embarrassed as he should have been by the incident, only frustrated that he couldn’t parse out Qui-Gon’s message thanks to Master Koon’s disruption. Perhaps he was a tad insubordinate, true, but he could never live with himself if he didn’t try and find Qui-Gon’s spirit. It would be his fault if he prolonged Qui-Gon’s time in limbo.

Obi-Wan was sure his master’s spirit was waiting for him.

Other Jedi passed him as he returned to his living quarters and Obi-Wan could have sworn that they all scowled at him, each and every one giving him scathing and dirty looks as he walked by. He figured he must look a sight right now. Obi-Wan resolved to get a shower and some clean clothes on. Admittedly, he hadn’t been taking the best care of himself in his forced time off. He decided, as he flopped onto his bed uselessly, that doing research on what Dathomir would be the best use of his time. The witches there were rumored to have knowledge of the dead, perhaps they could guide him.

He had to talk to Master Qui-Gon again, no matter what.


	2. Though the Visions Haunt You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting worse as he searches for an answer. He can't trust what or who he sees and hears and presses on regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally got this out. I'm not too content with it but I'll let it be. Things are really starting to hit the fan for poor Obi-Wan. 
> 
> For the Capgras' Delusion tag, that is a real-life psychological disorder where one views one or many of their close family, friends, or loved ones as impostors(Possibly with the intent to harm). Considering later events in the fic involve this real-world tie, I figured I'd note it for those who don't know. 
> 
> As I said for chapter one, the tags will change! Please check them now if you're not sure, as this story is going to change in genre/theme through the chapters. I don't want anyone to come to harm.

The blue glow of the Archive shelves illuminated Obi-Wan’s skin, giving him a sickly look as he trudged onward, picking up another datapadd to keep searching for information, this time on diplomatic ventures to Dathomir. The hollows in his cheeks had grown pronounced, especially under such harsh lighting. This far corner of the Archives had become a second home where Obi-Wan felt safe and alone. He sighed in exhaustion and frustration as he read, the words blurring together until he hit a section of text that looked corrupt and encrypted, skipping over it. He leaned back in the armchair he inhabited, looking up at the sliver of ceiling that lay sandwiched between the two shelves in which he hid.

“This is all useless…” He muttered, looking towards the stack of datapadds he kept on a side table. “It’s just like the rest of them.”

His words echoed throughout the Archive shelves. The space was mostly empty save for a few guards and the nocturnal Archivists. Obi-Wan felt isolated, but at the same time he often wanted to be these days. It was easier to work and easier to think that way. Except now, datapadds weren’t showing anything on Dathomir when he read through them despite showing in the Archive databases as containing relevant information. He presumed the text encrypted, though no file permissions had shown up when he accessed them.

“Archivist Lupo?” He called from behind the stacks.

A few moments after, a teenage Duro scurried over and down the row towards him. Obi-Wan knew the boy tended the shelves at night, preferring the quiet solitude to the busy hustle of the daytime. Obi-Wan understood that and put on a worn, tired smile that he hoped came across as anything but.

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“These padds were said to have information about Dathomir in them. I can’t find anything of the sort.” Obi-Wan explained. “I fear the texts have been corrupted or encrypted with security protocols. Can you see if they can be restored?”

“I can check the titles you picked out, Knight.” Lupo replied, taking the stack and rushing off with his robes billowing behind him.

Obi-Wan waited, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. He’d resigned himself to the pain that had settled there and now was one of the quieter times. Listening to the hum of the air vent above him and the subdued activity of the library, Obi-Wan nearly fell asleep and drifted in a semi-conscious haze. A sharp throb next to his left temple woke him up with a gasp, noticing Lupo had returned.

“Knight?” he asked warily.

“Just tired, don’t worry.” Obi-Wan smiled at him again. “What did you find?”

“Nothing, Knight Kenobi. The datapadds are all functioning correctly as they should be.”

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Page 483 of the padd on the bottom of the stack. I remember the pages in the 400’s on Dathomiran anthropology were corrupt.”

“I…they weren’t, they were just fine.” Lupo set down the stack and pulled out the datapadd, searching for the page itself. “Here, take a look.”

When Obi-Wan took the padd, his hand shook. The text on the page seemed perfectly legible, describing an encounter with Weequay pirates that ended poorly. As he checked each padd, he realized Lupo had been right. The padds were, in fact, fine. Then why were they corrupt before?

“Is there anything else, Knight Kenobi?” Lupo seemed to have backed up a tad.

“No, no, I’m fine. I must need sleep, I suppose.” Obi-Wan chuckled, though it wasn’t so much out of amusement so much as nervousness. “Thank you for your help.”

As the young man scurried off, Obi-Wan decided to pack it in and head back to his and Anakin’s quarters, replacing the padds in their rightful locations before making his way down to the first level of the Archives. His steps dragged uncharacteristically across the smooth floor as he slogged towards the Temple’s main hall. The corrupted words bore into his mind, wondering if Lupo had simply changed them back to normal before bringing the padds back. It was possible, since Lupo had been gone a long time. Why would his security clearance as a Jedi Knight not be enough to access general Archive information?

Not many were awake at this time of the night, mostly nocturnal species that had reversed sleep schedules or those that needed a less hectic schedule for themselves. Obi-Wan stared at the pillars vacantly, his head beginning to pound harder. A young Zybahhod Padawan and her Makurth master approached, talking animatedly about this or that. They were both nocturnal species, which meant that their training sessions had just finished. Obi-Wan looked up to nod politely and nearly yelped, freezing in place.

Their faces, already somewhat unusual in nature, had morphed into truly grotesque images. Gore and viscera dripped from the Makurth’s mouth, their eyes inverted in color, white pupils ringed by black and a deep purple. The Zybahhod’s feline eyes were enlarged, turning a very unnerving shade of cyan while black blood poured out of them. The girl must have said something to him but Obi-Wan couldn’t hear it as her mouth became distended and flopped uselessly as she spoke. Her sharp fangs dripped some sort of viscous acid that fell to the floor in a sizzling puddle.

 _Venomous…of course you are._ Obi-Wan thought as fear trickled down his back.

A reptilian tongue emerged from her mouth, flicking in interest at what she could smell. Obi-Wan couldn’t breathe, shutting his eyes tightly. She was turning on him, coming towards him, the forked tongue flicking against his quivering skin…

“Are you alright, Knight?”

The young girl’s voice was careful, wary. When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, the girl and her master were back to normal. She had laid a feline hand upon his, looking up with her limpid gaze. There was no possibility of harm from her that he could sense. She was too young, too inexperienced to hurt him. He could just as easily defend from whatever assault she could deal him. Her teeth, while holding a venomous solution, were no threat to him either as it didn’t kill beings of his size.

_Then why was she so kriffing terrifying?_

“Knight?” She tugged on side of his robe. “Are you okay?”

Her master gently grasped her wrist and pulled her back, frowning in what Obi-Wan could read as disapproval.

“Come with me, Llevyn.” His gritty voice growled, a characteristic of his species. “He needs rest. Leave him alone.”

The girl protested as the pair left hastily. Even she could tell that he was unusual. Everyone around stared at him with confusion, worry, or cool judgement. Obi-Wan realized that this was the first time his composure had slipped in public. They all seemed so unfamiliar. He knew he never saw them, not being nocturnal himself, but this foreign feeling went beyond that.

These weren’t Jedi. He didn’t know what they were, but they weren’t Jedi.

_That’s a ridiculous notion. Get out of there. Now._

Obi-Wan felt naked as his chest heaved with difficult breaths, his panic exposed to all. His instinct was to break out into a run, wishing for the privacy of his quarters as the flush of embarrassment rose up his face and to his ears. As another master opened his mouth, Obi-Wan made his decision. He ran without looking back.

\-----

Anakin sat in front of him the next day, practicing his levitation while Obi-Wan looked over various datapadds on the Nightsisters. If there were anyone in the galaxy that could explain how the dead could have their spirits restored to the living world, the Nightsisters were his best bet. Dark magic was their specialty, the Force flowing throughout their planet and at their disposal. Most of the information on them was apocryphal, Obi-Wan found, and more corruption of the text made things all the more difficult to parse. From what he could read, no one seemed to know the true nature of how their magic manifested, no doubt due to their xenophobia. In records of Dathomir’s population, Obi-Wan also found knowledge about the Nightbrothers, which explained Maul’s existence. There was no direct link to the Sith but a Zabrak male imbued with Force sensitivity found on such a planet would likely not become one of the Jedi. On the other hand, he would not have been able to learn the ways of the Force alone. Here he found the answer to the question he’d been asking himself: Had he dealt the killing blow to the apprentice or the master?

“Master.”

He wrote his notes down in a small journal by hand, too afraid of having his activity and plans tracked by the devices he normally typed on. Obi-Wan knew the corrupted text must be the Archivists’ doing. They had been monitoring his area of study through Lupo, how he tried to access more and more information. They’d made previously accessible knowledge to him blocked off now in larger and larger swathes, though he wasn’t sure why. He knew how to bypass encryptions and firewalls if it came to that. Ultimately, he wanted to know about that area of space that was restricted from access. The space around it was mostly barren save for Kessel and that planet was barely more than rock and spice mines to begin with. The planetarium only displayed emptiness. Why would barren space be off-limits?

“Master!”

Obi-Wan looked up from his pen. Anakin ran around the open space of their shared living room, chasing after the sphere he was trying to levitate. Now it stayed up in the air, moving a bit when Anakin turned his head. It was very impressive work for someone so new to the Force.

“Master Obi-Wan, look!” Anakin cried in happiness. “I did it!”

The little metallic sphere he controlled moved fluidly around the room and settled down neatly on an ottoman. Obi-Wan gave him a weak smile of encouragement. The ever-present headache that he’d learned to ignore picked up again, making him knead his eyes with the tips of his fingers.

“Good job, Anakin.” Obi-Wan peered out from behind his fingers briefly, the light in the room becoming too bright. “You learn faster than I can teach you.”

“You’re hardly teaching me anything, Master.” Anakin sat down cross-legged beside him on the couch with a frown. “I learned that from Master Pfhitchi in the creche.”

“Oh. Well, he’s very smart, you know, he’s-“

 “I thought you said when you weren’t on missions, you’d be teaching me instead of the crèche masters.” Anakin scowled. “You’ve not been on a mission since Naboo.”

“I’ve been…busy.” Obi-Wan lied, trying not to notice the disappointment in the boy’s eyes. “Being a Knight is hard work and sometimes it means I do a little more than paperwork and missions.”

It had become easier to lie to Anakin as time went on, he found.

“That’s not fair…all you ever do is drink caf and read.” Anakin crossed his arms and kicked his legs against the edge of the couch. “At night you just drink alcohol and read more. Do you even sleep?”

“The Council is giving me research to do while on-planet. I have to do what they tell me and when.” Obi-Wan deflected.

Anakin got back up and pouted, pacing around the coffee table. Obi-Wan watched him and saw nothing but tension in his posture. He’d grown up being promised things and then never receiving them. Obi-Wan winced when he realized he’d been doing the same.

“I miss Master Qui-Gon.” Anakin whined. “Why did he die?”

At that, Obi-Wan’s head gave a major throb of protest, making him hold his head in his hands.

“Don’t…” Obi-Wan grit his teeth.

“What?” Anakin looked up at him curiously.

Obi-Wan weighed the risks of admitting his suspicion and exhaled to calm himself and his head.

“Anakin… Qui-Gon’s not dead. Not entirely.”

“No, he’s dead. That’s why we had the thing for him, right?” Anakin’s confusion was palpable. “The f…fun…?”

Obi-Wan waited a moment, letting him figure it out. Anakin was smart but his time as a slave meant his education had been nonexistent. When it was clear Anakin wouldn’t be able to say it, he continued.

“The funeral, yes, but…what do you think of the idea that someone could come back? From the dead, I mean. Like a ghost.”

Anakin’s face screwed up in thought. “Hmm…well, I never heard of anyone coming back to life before. Mom said ghosts are everywhere, though, especially if they aren’t happy.”

“Qui-Gon isn’t a ghost, not yet.” Obi-Wan sat up straighter. “He knows something about the Force that let him come back as a ghost. I’ve been researching how to talk to him and how to bring his spirit here.”

Obi-Wan turned to him to gauge Anakin’s reaction. He looked skeptical and a tad confused, but there was no judgement in him.

“Mom talked to ghosts sometimes, late at night, but that was when she’d had a couple of drinks and was upset. Kind of like you.”

“…right.” Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head at Anakin’s bluntness. “I’m planning to go somewhere to see if they can help me get Qui-Gon to talk back.”

“Great.” The smile Anakin wore was endearing in its naiveté. “When are we going?”

“You aren’t coming with me.” Obi-Wan picked up his journal again and scratched half-written coordinates out quite thoroughly, his frustration with the material growing. “It would be too dangerous.”

“I want to help you!” Anakin pouted. “Please?”

“You can’t. You just can’t, Anakin. I’m dealing with matters far beyond your years _and_ mine and I…I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t bring a child into such a dangerous place with so many unknown variables.”

Anakin shrugged. “I’ve built entire podracers before I was seven and I was making parts for Watto at five. I think I can help somehow.”

“Anakin, this isn’t a matter of engineering capability-”

Obi-Wan slumped back down on the couch with a low moan. Head in his hands, he felt nausea curl in his gut as his skull split open in pain. The broken threads of his bond pulsed and tortured him as his vision whited out.

_You never were good with patience…_

_Master…?_

_Let me lead you to me, Obi-Wan…wake up…_

“Wake up!”

Obi-Wan startled and sat upright from where he was laid out on the couch. Anakin peered over his prone form.

“Master Obi-Wan?” he asked nervously. “A-Are you okay?”

Tears sprung to Obi-Wan’s eyes as he tried to push past the pain that still plagued him and tried to accept it so it could be released, sitting back up and feeling the world tilt. That became harder with each passing day.

Anakin rubbed his back with a small, gentle hand. “Master?”

“I’m okay, Anakin.” Obi-Wan choked with a small smile, joyed at hearing his master’s voice for the first time in too long. “How long was I out?”

“A couple minutes.” A small hand rested on his shoulder. “Are you sick?”

_Was it really that long? I could have sworn it was only moments…_

“No, no…it’s the broken bond.”  Obi-Wan patted Anakin’s hand reassuringly. “Qui-Gon talks to me through it, seemingly, but he doesn’t realize it causes me pain.”

Anakin laughed. At first, Obi-Wan thought Anakin didn’t believe him, but a quick search of his mind held no malicious intent.

“So…is that why you’re so grumpy all the time?" He asked amusedly. “Master Qui-Gon’s trying to have a chat with you?”

Obi-Wan huffed out a weak laugh. Anakin’s brutal honesty was surprisingly endearing. He didn’t think he’d like Anakin initially but now the boy was quickly growing on him.

“Something like that…” Obi-Wan replied.

“The Healers could-“ Anakin started but Obi-Wan cut him off.

“No, I’m not going to them for this. They wouldn’t understand what’s going on.” He would sooner eat his own foot than go to the Halls of Healing. “I’ll be fine, Anakin. I just need sleep.”

“Oh.” Anakin’s face said he didn’t buy it at all but he wouldn’t question his judgement. “Like sleep sleep or are you gonna stay up all night reading in the library again?”

“…kriff, I thought you were asleep.” Obi-Wan rested a hand on his face. “Don’t repeat that word, by the way.”

“Oh, I know that one.” Anakin smiled. “I know a lot of words I shouldn’t use, like how you’re a karking liar.”

Obi-Wan snorted in defeat. “I think you know me far too well.”

“You’re kinda transparent.” Anakin’s smile turned into a playful grin. “I learned that word with Master Windu.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile back. “Well, I don’t disagree with you there.”

“The next time you go, take me with you. The creche masters think I should be around words more.” Anakin stretched his legs and yawned. “Could be a good time to learn to read.”

He yawned and hummed his agreement. He didn’t protest when Anakin took his hand and led him towards his bedroom.

“Awfully insistent for a child…” Obi-Wan commented idly, following along.

“It’s what I do. Otherwise I would have been like all the other slaves.” Anakin shrugged and nearly pushed Obi-Wan onto his bed. “They didn’t talk much, didn’t take care of themselves…you’re kinda like them. Mom and I would take care of the ones we knew who gave up and made sure they didn’t die of heatstroke or injuries. Their owners often didn’t care too much either way, since they owned more slaves. The ones who gave up could die and no one would care, so…we did instead.”

Obi-Wan’s heart twisted at that information as Anakin’s smaller hands pulled the blankets up to his chin. Exhaustion and pain meant he couldn’t focus too hard on what Anakin had said. The implications were there, that he’d given up and was devolving, but he wasn’t. He was just trying to do what was necessary to bring Qui-Gon to him again. Was he becoming a bad teacher or worse, dysfunctional, in the process?

_No. Qui-Gon will lead me. He’ll show me what I have to do, one teacher to another._

The pain wouldn’t let him sleep but he meditated deeply enough that Anakin wouldn’t have known the difference. He’d decided to go after the Dathomirans and seek their aid from the start, but now he just needed a plan of action that wouldn’t get him killed.

_\-----_

Obi-Wan glanced at his plate of breakfast and picked at it idly, his stomach doing backflips at the thought of actually ingesting it. He hadn’t had much of an appetite since returning from Naboo. Sleep had evaded him as well, so he spent his waking hours reading and building plan after plan. Anakin waking up after nightmares interrupted his concentration without fail, when he would lull Anakin back to sleep by hugging him close and humming a song he knew. He learned from the Duchess Satine on Mandalore during his time there with her. His heart gave a rather lackluster throb in his chest. He knew he loved Satine as well but she didn’t have such a connection with him as he did with Qui-Gon. His love for Qui-Gon was one-sided and would never have thrived, but it remained pervasive nonetheless. He couldn’t spare too much of his thoughts for the Duchess, since she had her own life separate from his so far away. That was the choice he made, however reluctantly, and he had to live with it.

_No doubt Satine has already married by now. I wonder if she’s happy…I hope so._

Anakin rambled on mostly aimlessly in front of him between quick bites of food. He was clearly excited for all of the things he was learning. Obi-Wan remembered faintly when he used to be so eager for knowledge, though that had soon given way to an eagerness to impress that never left him, one that made his education difficult. One that meant he became a Knight far after all of his peers had and only after near suicide by thermal detonator.

“Master Lyssa has a test for me today in xenobiology. It shouldn’t be too hard, I just don’t want to do it. Master Maren’s going to teach me how to build a simple speeder engine today, too. That I already know how to do but I wanna do it anyway!”

“Wonderful. Don’t forget your training with Master Windu later in the salles. Not everything is technology and biology.” Obi-Wan responded mechanically as he sipped at his caf. “And don’t forget your health exams with the Healers. I know you did the tests and the vaccines with them when you arrived but they want you to come back and make sure you’re eating well.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Anakin replied through his food and looked up at him. “Master Obi-Wan?”

“Yes, Anakin?”

“Why aren’t you eating, then? You can’t tell me to eat and not eat yourself.”

Obi-Wan mentally cursed. He had hoped Anakin wouldn’t notice, too self-absorbed in his excitement to comment. The fact that his food had merely shifted around rather than disappeared entirely could have simply been an oversight. With Anakin’s upbringing, Obi-Wan realized, he shouldn’t be surprised Anakin would notice. Anakin always ate in the blink of an eye, as if he still expected his plate to be taken away.

_Sith hells, he probably still does._

“I’m…not hungry.” Obi-Wan waved his concern off. “Do you want it?”

Anakin’s young face crumpled in worry but he nodded, eyeing the plate eagerly. “What about you?”

“You’ll learn that I hate Temple commissary food. If you want to get me a gift, outside food is one of the best.” He forced a smile to appease him and luckily, it was successful. “Maybe we can go to my favorite diner. A good friend runs the place, he lets me eat for no charge. I always give him a huge tip to compensate.”

“A diner!” Anakin laughed. “If we eat that, we’re gonna get so fat! We can’t be Jedi like that.”

“Hush, Anakin, there are plenty of heavyset Jedi and they do their jobs just as well as anyone else.” Obi-Wan smiled more genuinely this time. “Not all Jedi work is swinging one’s saber around and saving the day. Sometimes it’s simply making sure the Jedi Order can function day to day here. Knights can be in all shapes and sizes, too.”

“Okay.” Anakin smiled in return before spying some of his fellow classmates. “Can I sit with my friends?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Obi-Wan gestured to the other table.

“Alright! If you need anything, just call me.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but huff out a breath that could have been a laugh into his mug of caf. He rested his aching forehead on his forearm, wondering when it would stop hurting. The pain of his migraine intensified yet again, making his vision white out yet again.

_Do not question my methods, Obi-Wan. You were always so eager to do so._

_Qui-Gon, please, just speak to me vocally. I feel insane this way, odd things have been happening and you’re causing me pain!_

_I cannot, Padawan._

_Why?_

_Qui-Gon?_

_Qui-Gon, please speak to me! Please, please, please-!_

“Please what?”

Obi-Wan’s stomach dropped as he sat straight up, sending his mug flying off of the table. It shattered on the floor, alerting some of the Jedi around him along with his cry. Obi-Wan frantically looked over to where Anakin sat, too engrossed in his friends’ words to notice. An elderly Phindar stood above him, a wrinkled hand resting on his shoulder.

“Young Knight, are you feeling well?”

Obi-Wan felt the familiar feeling of nakedness twist his gut with urgent nausea. Blanching, he stood and felt vertigo grip him hard as the world floundered beneath his feet.

“Excuse me.”

Obi-Wan shouldered past the Phindar and walked straight out of the commissary. He realized then that the caf might have been a bad idea as he rushed to the nearest ‘fresher, thanking the Force that his Jedi training allowed him to make it that far as he locked himself in a cubicle.

\-----

_“No!”_

_The scream echoed around the large chamber. It made no difference to the hulking beast that now turned on him, yellow eyes boring under his skin like a parasite. They were sucking the mercy and control from him as much as the beast himself, turning him into something just as wretched._

_The Dark Side threatened to rise in him and he allowed it._

_He jumped at the chance to end this where his master could not, to rip the Sith’s horrific head from his shoulders. With only rage in his heart he struck blow after blow, each countered seamlessly. Maul grinned in response, wide-eyed and manic. He focused and dodged flawless ripostes and lunges, trying to hide his exertion from the drawn out battle. Maul didn’t seem to be exhausted at all, holding his saber in front of himself like a shield and defending as he screamed and pinned the Sith to the wall behind them._

_This, he realized, was not what happened in reality. He was in a memory and he knew it._

_“Your master is no more, Jedi. He’s ours now.”_

_Such a gentle voice from such a murderous being._

_“How dare you…he is still with me.”_

_“Is he? Are you sure?”_

_He wanted to rip those vocal cords out and shove his saber down the monster’s throat just to watch the flesh sizzle and burn._

_“My master wishes to see all of you pathetic Jedi on your knees, just like your master was on his.”_

_“You will never see me on mine.”_

_“We shall see.”_

_Maul lunged, avoiding the blue saber. He attempted to slice the Sith in half, using what strength he had to pin the man to the wall of the chamber again, using the Force to knock the Sith’s saber hilt away. His saber glowed blue against the dark throat of Maul, who only laughed at him._

_“Young Jedi…would you kill an unarmed person?” Maul taunted._

_“Perhaps, if it’s you I’m killing.” He grit out of clenched teeth, cocking his head in a half-shrug. “Give me information or I’ll try.”_

_“Hm…this is your memory, is it not? I can’t tell you anything, you insane wretch.” Maul sighed and made no move to escape the hold. “You can’t kill me here. It’s just a memory.”_

_“You are of the Dathomiran Nightbrothers. You know your sisters’ ways. Tell me.” He deflected._

_Maul laughed and spit in his face. He growled and pressed the very tip of his blade to Maul’s throat. He grinned at the sound of sizzling flesh, ignoring the acrid scent. If the Sith felt the pain, he showed nothing of it._

_“How do you expect me to help you?” Maul replied coolly. “Your master is, indeed, gone. No more.”_

_“I have read about you. The witches, what can they do to Qui-Gon’s spirit to bring him back to me?”_

_“We can and will do nothing. I certainly don’t have what you seek. Dead men cannot tell you any new tales, Jedi.”_

_“You lie! I feel him and so do you!” He growled between his teeth. “Tell me!”_

_“Do you really feel him? Are you sure? I think you’ve gone mad, little Jedi, over the loss of your master.”_

_He paused, watching Maul’s face and searched for any signs of deception._

_There were none._

_He snarled, kicking Maul in the shins to no effect._

_“Let your hatred flow through your veins…kill me. You want to do it so badly…”_

_Maul leaned into his ear. He expected warm, rotted breath with shudders of disgust but the Sith in front of him was clean-cut in his merciless existence. Cool, clean breath tickled his ear and made him shiver with a feeling disgustingly pleasant._

_“You are surrounded by traitors, Jedi…you must leave them behind. You won’t find any other answers in a memory.”_

_Maul knocked his saber out of his hand and jumped out of his hold, knocking him back into the pit._

_He gripped onto the side and this, this was where the memory continued as normal, where he relived-_

Obi-Wan startled awake. A chime at the door alerted him to a visitor. Master Mundi waited calmly when he opened the door, wizened face crumpling in concern as he read the panel beside the door.

“Oh dear…Knight, by the time keeping here, you’ve been in this meditation room for eight-point-one hours. Are you alright?”

“Yes, Master Mundi, I’m fine.” Obi-Wan was tired of saying that but continued to do so. “I just…fell asleep.”

“Are you not sleeping well in your own quarters?” Mundi asked kindly.

“No, it’s just…I’ve been busy with independent study.” Obi-Wan replied, rising from his cushion and made for the exit. “I have a theory I’m working on and I need to focus. That’s what I was trying to do”

Master Mundi tilted his ovoid head and smiled. “It’s clear you weren’t doing such a good job with that, then. The Healers-“

“I’m fine, Master.” Obi-Wan whirled around on the ball of his foot to look up at him. “Everyone is suggesting I need help but I’m _fine!_ ’

Obi-Wan scowled as he slipped past Mundi and out into the hallway, ignoring the stunned comment that the bewildered master let out. As he looked back, Obi-Wan found he was being followed. He wondered who the person was. He didn’t recognize the man at all. Judging by how he followed his steps, albeit in a stealthy manner, he seemed threatening. Ducking into an old, disused room in the tower, Obi-Wan waited with bated breath for the person to leave.

He was not rested by any means but he was sure he should have known that person. Was his meditation correct? Did everyone truly hate him? He knew now that no one in the Temple wanted anything for him but to be isolated in the Halls of Healing. Why else would they be recommending so much help from the Healers? Obi-Wan felt uneasy, surrounded by people who weren’t who they were supposed to be. More and more often, the faces were changing into people he didn’t know as he passed them. It had been mostly those he rarely saw at first, but now even those he should know were becoming unknown by the hour. Archivists he’d seen every day were foreign, Council members faded in and out of recognition. Soon, he would be surrounded by strangers who all wished him to be hidden behind doors and walls where he couldn’t leave.

He had to go to Dathomir before the traitors reined him in permanently. Qui-Gon was so close, he couldn’t lose him to eternal limbo. Heading for his quarters, Obi-Wan found his journal and started to write in a shaking hand. His lack of appetite or sleep had left his coordination slightly off, making his normal scrawl look downright atrocious.

_Master,_

_I cannot live this way much longer, surrounded by those who would wish to see me gone from this wretched place. I see now why you were so tenuously a Jedi yourself. The Council believes that I have killed the master of the two Sith and that the Apprentice is no longer powerful. They say he should not be considered a threat. I feel the stirrings, however. The lies and corruption run deep, deeper than they know. It is frustrating, so frustrating!_

_That is why I must find you or join you in our places among the Force. I have no other options. I have found that corruption, that threat to the Jedi world that the Council wishes to hide, and now it lives right within the Temple itself…_

He kept writing for an amount of time he didn’t care to count before finding his comm unit and punching in Plo’s address to leave a message.

_“This is Knight Kenobi. Please meet me in the Council’s meeting chamber at 18:30. It’s urgent we speak in private.”_

\-----

“Absolutely not.”

Plo Koon was intimidating to most in any scenario. Normally, however, the Kel-Dor would have been a source of comfort for Obi-Wan, as Plo was quite paternal in nature and they had been good friends since he was one of the youngest of the younglings in his creche group. As Plo’s family were stationed as creche masters, he had visited often, checking in on their progress as a Council member. If he hadn’t been as adept at combat and had honed the skills of a Knight so well, Obi-Wan was sure that Plo might have joined his family in the creche.

He felt nothing but stern refusal, however, from the answer to his request. He thought that of anyone on the Council, Master Plo would be the one to grant it. It seemed that even nepotism wouldn’t grant him any favors.

“I have to go, Master. I-It’s important, you see.” Obi-Wan started to explain but Plo held up a talon-tipped finger.

“There is nothing you need of the witches that live on Dathomir, much less what they would give you.” Plo rested the raised hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder lightly. “I alone would not be able to grant such a dangerous request and I doubt that any of the other Masters will disagree with my judgement. Why do you need to travel to Dathomir, Obi-Wan? At least give me a reason.”

“It is my own business.” Obi-Wan frowned. “I just need permission.”

The perpetual and yet growing ache in his head was too much to bear, leaving him hypersensitive and agitated. The feeling of the talons on his shoulder, gentle as they were, felt like pinpricks that he shrugged off. Even the feeling of his rough tunic and belt on his skin or how his lightsaber swayed lightly against his hip were unwelcome stimuli. It was as if his skin and nerves were on fire and he wanted it to stop.

“Master Yoda has sensed much grief and anger in you since Qui-Gon’s death, Obi-Wan, and you know I can confirm that fact. If he finds out you have been coping so poorly, he could have you put under the Healers’ control until you can improve.”

“You can’t enter my mind unless I wish it!” Obi-Wan looked up at Plo and in the eyes. “You can’t violate my privacy that way!”

Coruscant was awash in rain and the drops landing on the rotunda of windows grated on his nerves. Every drip, every drop, every clap of distant thunder grated on his nerves.

“I would only be doing this for your wellbeing-“

There was a prodding in his mind of someone foreign and Obi-Wan threw up his strongest shielding, cutting off their telepathic bond as well as their Force bond.

 “Enough!” Obi-Wan screwed his eyes shut and covered his ears rather childishly with his hands. “Stay out of my mind!”

“Why have you not visited the Healers? ” Plo tucked his hands into this robes.

“You know kriffing well why if you’re reading my mind.” Obi-Wan shrugged and hissed at the fabric moving.

“Obi-Wan, language.” Plo rebuked gently. “Look at yourself. You look like you have not slept in ages. You have grown thin in only a week and a half since your return.”

“Has it only been a week and a half?” Obi-Wan furrowed his brows. “I swear it has to have been longer…”

“No. It has been exactly twelve days since your return. I should order you to the Healers for treatment if your sense of time passage is failing so severely in tandem with the rest of your unusually hostile behavior.”

“Try it. I dare you.” Obi-Wan bit out.

“I will if you will not take care of your own failing health.” Plo scowled. “You are no longer yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan looked at the window, wishing the rain would stop. He had nothing to say to that as he felt more himself than ever. He looked back and did a double-take. The masked face before him started to morph, becoming yet another monstrous visage that added to the tens of them he’d already seen.

“…who are you?” he asked warily.

“Excuse me?”

Obi-Wan backed away slowly, watching the figure’s every move. “You’re one of the others, I knew it!”

“I don’t understand…”

The stranger’s face was hidden, likely to conceal his true identity, even as it shifted to a bemused look. He tried to approach, only to have Obi-Wan take a defensive stance.

“No, you don’t!”

Obi-Wan shouted and pressed up against the large window, his ire and panic rising at thought of losing someone else. His eyes flick out towards the ground, The spire was the tallest in the Temple but his fear of heights be damned, he was more afraid of what lay inside the Temple than what lay outside.

“I need to go to Dathomir, please, I have to-!”

“You are not making sense, Obi-Wan.” Plo stopped him mid-sentence and tried to approach again. “Come with me.”

“No.” Obi-Wan protested. “I won’t come with you anywhere. I’m going to Dathomir, I’m finding the best ship I can in the hangar bay and-”

“You cannot leave.” The smooth, deep voice threatened. “You will harm yourself and others this way.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. Fury rose up in Obi-Wan all in one moment, a rage he hadn’t felt before. His voice lowered to a growling, rasping tone. He wasn’t entirely sure it was his own, yet he couldn’t keep himself quiet.

_“I will have him back!”_

He could tell in the set of the stony facial features in front of him that he would be detained either way at this rate and that couldn’t happen.

“I was supposed to be a Jedi as much as Anakin was! Only Qui-Gon took pity on both of us! You and the rest of the Council were going to ship me off to Bandomeer and ship Anakin off to some former slave refugee center if he left Tattooine at all! You never thought either of us capable. You always thought Qui-Gon insane, unconventional, not a “true” Jedi at all!”

“Obi-Wan, I was one of the ones who _believed_ him, you must realize that.” The figure tried to reason, his clawed hands open in a peaceful gesture.

“You’re all determined to have my mind wiped clean to be made a mindless part of the janitorial staff! I’ll be shipped off to the next rock to help with kriffing _farming again_ because you think I’ve lost my mind! Qui-Gon would never have done this!”

“No, that’s not our intention.“

“Stop! Just stop with the lies!” Obi-Wan snarled and paced around the room like a caged animal. “What other lies do the Jedi tell?! That we are the saviors of the galaxy, that we are the ones who solve all the problems of war and diplomacy? Well, look at where that lie sent Master Qui-Gon! I have to talk to him, don’t you see?”

“Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon is no longer-“

“I _know_ Qui-Gon is alive, he’s _spoken_ to me!”

Obi-Wan approached the masked man, gripped him by the collar of his robes, and leaned upward into his face.

“He speaks to me, tells me he’ll guide me to the solution.” Obi-Wan smiled. “You say you can read my mind, traitor, you know what I say is true.”

“Obi-Wan, stop.“

“You can’t make me.” Obi-Wan tightened his fist in the cloth, uttering a harsh, guttural sound that felt as if it tore his throat. “I will leave this place, whether you traitors desire it or not. Qui-Gon needs me to help him.”

“Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon is-“

_“Stop lying to me!”_

Obi-Wan’s head reached a fever pitch as his vision started to white out with pain yet again. He fought against the unconsciousness that wanted to claim him but lost.

_He is a threat, Obi-Wan. He is false._

_What do I do?_

_Neutralize the threat. What else?_

_Of course, Master._

Obi-Wan called his lightsaber to his hand from his belt. Without really willing his limbs to move, Obi-Wan poised to strike, a well-executed blow to the neck his target. With a snarl, he leapt.

He would have succeeded with his attack if he hadn’t become airborne.

He felt his body connect with one of the chairs as the pain in his head escalated, making him cry out as he hit the floor in a heap. He had forgotten that the Kel-Dor have natural telekinetic powers at their disposal. That was no self-preservative Force push triggered by danger. He had been actively _flung_ across the room with nothing more than a thought. His vision grayed at the edges and the world spun as the figure approached. The throbbing in his head sharpened and Obi-Wan grit his teeth against the pain, emitting only a small whimper as his hands raised to his temples.

“Obi-Wan…” the figure said in a calm tone. “Let me help, you are in tremendous pain.”

“You can’t help me.”

Obi-Wan’s voice wavered as he realized he couldn’t fight back…and he didn’t want to anymore.

_He doesn’t understand my pain. He doesn’t understand that it’s how Qui-Gon stays with me. I have to feel him, I have to._

Obi-Wan rose to support himself on his hands, leaning upwards as much as he could.

“Qui-Gon…he spoke before! Didn’t you hear him, too?” His voice wavered precariously.

“…I heard nothing, Obi-Wan.” The masked face looked concerned, but Obi-Wan didn’t buy it.

“You have to believe me!” Obi-Wan whimpered. “I heard him!”

“I do believe you heard him." The figure knelt down beside him and Obi-Wan tried to scrabble away on the smooth, marble floor. "I cannot be for certain if his spirit is here or if you are hallucinating.”

Obi-Wan growled. “I am not hallucinating! I just, I-”

_Sleep, Padawan mine. You don’t have to answer to him any longer._

The pain escalated once more, cutting off whatever lasting thoughts he may have had. Obi-Wan screamed, writhing where he lay as it became worse than any other episode prior. Tears sprang to his eyes as rough hands gently pinned his shoulders, finding that the pain went away once he shut his eyes, the frantic voice in his ears dimming into a comfortably numb silence.

\-----

There was movement around him. At first it felt like little more than something poking at his arms and legs. He wanted it to stop but whenever he tried to say so, his mouth never moved. He couldn’t even open his eyes. When the poking turned to a phantom feeling of weightlessness, he panicked. He hated feeling weightless, whether it be caused by flying in speeders or ships or dreaded space walks. Even bacta tanks were a source of severe anxiety. He didn’t bother to try and protest, already feeling the pull of sleep bring him back in. Words floated to him, too distant and muffled to make out as he fell back into his dark oblivion.

The next time he was aware of himself again, a bright light shone in from a window next to his bed. The light shone through even his eyelids. He didn’t want to open them. He knew what would greet him if he did. The suns of Coruscant, reflected off of the surrounding structures lower to the ground. The light was channeled into a room with little artificial light to begin with, one meant for healing and rest.

Pain was nowhere to be felt, which came as a blessed relief until his stomach dropped. He couldn’t feel the Force around him anymore, the numbness only a cover for the lack of his extrasensory perception. He knew all too well what that meant. Dread filled him as he tugged on the restraints that inhibited his Force sensitivity and also kept him bound to the bed. Panic filled him and made him struggle in his restraints, causing the monitor above his bed to start beeping as his heart rate increased.

“I can’t bring him back! I’ve failed!” Obi-Wan cried as Healers rushed into the room.

“Shh, it’s alright, Knight Kenobi.”

They kept repeating the words but Obi-Wan didn’t hear them. Only the press of a needle to his hip brought him out of his panic, the dread dimming to a manageable haze. The monsters stared down at him, vile and horrific faces all locked on his, continuing their calm mantra.

“It’s not…” Obi-Wan’s words slurred with the powerful medicine. “Can’t help him…can’t…”

As he lost awareness for the third time, he did so again with tears rolling down his cheeks.

The pain was gone. He couldn't hear Qui-Gon anymore. He had to get him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you're not aware, the Zybahhod and Makurth in this chapter aren't entirely made-up species! This fic is going to go into all sorts of esoteric, archaic lore for SW(In fact that's the entire premise) and these two are no exceptions. I'd say look those names up and see what they are for the sake of understanding...the Zybahhod in particular(The species' full name is Zybahhod Yenyani). Even when they look normal they look unsettling.


	3. On a Bed of Nails He Makes Me Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan's forced to bide his time until he can escape. The inactivity isn't kind on him, predictably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I really had trouble editing this chapter. I took out a significant plot point out of the second chapter due to it being unnecessary(And possibly too much for some to handle), but that meant the entire next few chapters(And less significant parts of the entire rest of the story) are going to be changed. Therefore, this chapter was mostly gutted and had to be rewritten with existing material as best I could. I don't like it, I think other chapters will be easier to edit, but oh well.
> 
> Though I don't think I need to tag anything that serious this time around, do still keep checking the tags from here on out. They WILL change.

The next night and day were a haze of unknown faces and the comforting embrace of unconsciousness that Obi-Wan couldn’t and didn’t want to shake. He was free of pain due to the painkillers they were pumping into his bloodstream and the Force inhibitors. Yet, the disconnect from Qui-Gon was its own kind of pain in itself. Obi-Wan felt unsettled knowing that he couldn’t sense his master’s spirit and that all around him were unfamiliar people. Many Jedi faced vertigo-like symptoms while under continued Force inhibition and he was no exception. His hearing was muffled and his sight was blurry and unfocused, making his days and nights awake miserable while he fought against the nausea that welled up in him. The Healers visited repeatedly, making comments about his weight. More tubes were inserted in his arms, this time ones that fed him nutrients, only lending to the nausea. Still, Obi-Wan refused to say anything, keeping his eyes tightly shut as well as his mouth, too afraid of what would happen if he opened either.

If this was the person he was without the Force, then he was grateful that he didn’t have to live this way forever.

Coming out of meditation sometime during the night, Obi-Wan realized he’d lost track of the days entirely. Healers were talking by his bedside, so he tried to tune in as best he could.

“He can’t heal himself if you keep the binders on…”

“He won’t heal himself, Apprentice Eerin, because there’s nothing to heal. It’s obvious he let himself lose so much weight rather than through any physical illness.” One of the Healers remarked. “Judging by his thoughts, he wants the pain back and wants the broken bond the way it is, which indicates an altogether more severe illness we aren’t equipped to handle.”

“What do we do, then?” The Healer known as Eerin asked with desperation. “He’s my friend, we can’t just leave him tied up and Force-blind!”

“The tanks, then. They’re the only way we can assure he is healed. He can be sedated safely until we find a cure for his…ailment, whatever it may be, and have his strength return without his interference.”

Just the thought of that cold gel made his skin crawl.

“No…” Obi-Wan mumbled, unable to lift his head and look over. “Please, don’t…”

He was sure they didn’t hear him, since they continued on normally.

“We can’t do that, he-”

“We have to try. He’ll die otherwise.”

“…yes, Master Che.”

The two Healers approached his bed. Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed and his breathing stable, letting them think he was asleep. They puttered around for a few moments, one typing into a computer while the other checked his IV lines. Obi-Wan took a slow, steady, deep breath. When hands unlocked the binders, Obi-Wan felt a surge of energy and his nausea quickly abating as the Force flowed through him once again, giving him a sense of grounding. 

Now he just had to wait.

He was lifted onto a gurney, listening for the sounds around him as he was brought to the bacta tank rooms. At the sound of a hypospray being filled, Obi-Wan sprang into action. Sitting up and jumping off of the gurney, he made a break for the entrance, weaving around the computer stations.

“Obi-Wan!” One of the Healers cried, though Obi-Wan didn’t listen. “Obi-Wan, please come back!”

He ripped out the IV tubing that had been stuck into his skin, uncaring of the blood that started to flow down his arm as he ran. The pain brought clarity, sweet clarity, and his consciousness and focus was almost restored entirely. That was what he needed, what he craved, not the sedated stupor he’d been placed into. To be numb meant he couldn’t complete his task. Pain was what was pushing him forward, driving him forward each step as his headache came back almost immediately as his connection to Qui-Gon returned. The fear he held for those tanks kept him zig-zagging through the hallways, as well. The sensation of weightlessness, the semi-consciousness that came with it, all of it gave him claustrophobia and a terrifying sense of being spaced. Even the masks were no help, he always had trouble breathing properly among the viscous gel. Obi-Wan ran from his fear and from the unknown Healers and tried to find the entrance to the labyrinthine halls. Light footsteps barely made a sound on the smooth floor as hallway after hallway looked identical and led him nowhere.

“Come on…” He panted, eyes searching frantically for a door that would lead to the entrance to the Halls and, perhaps, to the Temple itself.

The pain in his head intensified in a familiar way and Obi-Wan knew his ability to run would soon be cut short. Finding an open door, he slipped into the room and locked the door, sliding down the wall to rest his forehead on his knees. Sweat dripped off of him in waves as he gulped for air, feeling his stomach twist dangerously.

_Obi-Wan…_

Obi-Wan bit his hand to keep from screaming as the pain whited out his vision.

_Obi-Wan, you have to help me._

_I’m trying, Master! Somewhat busy right now!_

_I won’t survive long in this limbo if you cannot contact me._

_I know, please, just let me focus!_

_You’ve always been stubborn, Padawan mine._

Obi-Wan’s senses picked up movement from the doorway as he came back to himself. His hand bled, teeth marks visible in his pale skin. Looking up, Obi-Wan spied a Mon Cala woman staring down at him.

“Obi-Wan…the whole Temple is looking for you.” She frowned. “You’ve been gone for hours.”

“I could have sworn it was only a few minutes.” Obi-Wan muttered, looking away as her mouth started to morph. “Leave me alone, you talk as if I know you.”

“My name is Bant, remember?” She looked hopeful. Obi-Wan wondered why her face wasn’t monstrous like the others. “I can’t leave you alone, Obi. You have to come with me or they’re going to sedate you and put you in the bacta tanks.”

At his shudder, she seemed to smile. For the briefest moment, her face looked familiar. Memories of him covered in wounds after a stupid mission in his teens came to him, her hands on his shoulders as he fell to the floor…and the wreckage of a bacta tank that surrounded him in transparisteel shards. Screams, so much screaming…

Then they were gone.

“I can’t go with you. I have to leave.” Obi-Wan looked up at her, grabbing her robes with a slick hand. “Please, help me. I-I have to get a ship from the hangar and go to Dathomir…say it’s medical, something…”

The Mon Cala’s face twisted in thought for a second before footsteps could be heard coming down the hall.

“I’m sorry, Obi.” She leaned her head out of the doorway. “He’s in here!”

“No!” Obi-Wan shouted as he hurled himself away from the unknown Healer. “You can’t make me…!”

“It’s for your own good, Obi-Wan, now let us-“

As the Healers swarmed into the room, Obi-Wan felt trapped. He glanced around before simply curling into the corner, behind the examination bed.

“No! Get away from me!”

He used the Force to push them all away, creating a shield around him. While it didn’t fling them across the room, it was enough space for him to feel safer. Though Obi-Wan had a constant feeling of despair since he awoke, now it was even worse. He blocked out the muttering around him as he kept the shield up as long as he could. He shook with the effort, worse than when he’d been holding Qui-Gon’s body to his chest, he was so exhausted and weak. The shield started to falter after only a couple minutes, sweat staining his tunic as it rolled down his neck. Still, a sense of anger drove him to keep it up.

“Knight Kenobi…” One of the Healers, a Twi’lek this time, tried to soothe. “Please, let us do what we need to help heal you. You aren’t well.”

“Stop…talking to me like you would a youngling…” Obi-Wan glared up at her from within his shield.

“Alright, fine.” The woman nodded and crossed her arms. “Come with us. You can’t keep that up for much longer and there are other patients I have to attend to.”

“Healer Che, that’s rude!” The Mon Cala piped up.

“It’s the truth, Bant.” The Twi’Lek repled shortly.

Obi-Wan knew she was right. His head ached worse and worse from the effort expended, his whole body was shaking, and he felt faint. If he blacked out, he’d certainly be put in the bacta tanks. He could escape them, though. That thought comforted him somewhat as his awareness faded fast. He still didn’t want to be placed in one, so he resolved to stay awake long enough to get to his bed.

“Fine…” He muttered, his breathing ragged.

“Get him to the tank.” The Twi’lek smiled coolly.

“I think he would prefer the slow healing to the bacta, Healer Che.” The familiar Healer scowled, in as much as a Mon Cala could. “Besides, I…I know him. We’re friends. Let me get him back to his room, I’ll double his dosage of nutrients and see how he does. Please?”

Obi-Wan stopped listening and let the kind Healer transfer him back to his room without a fight. In all honesty, he was too tired to fight back if he wanted to. He allowed her to hold onto his arm as he was led back through the Halls, noting each door on their way for future reference.

“I’m sorry about that, Obi-Wan. They should have read your file and noted that incident after your mission on Dantooine.”

“They probably did. They just didn’t care.” Obi-Wan spat. “They want me dead and gone.”

“Oh, Obi-Wan, no they don’t!” The Mon Cala sighed. “They want you well. I want you well, too.”

Obi-Wan was puzzled. This girl seemed so familiar, yet he couldn’t remember anything about her. He turned his head to look at her, squinting.

“Who are you?”

The woman’s face sunk as she shook her head, leading him into his private room. “My name is Bant Eerin. I’ve told you that before. You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

“No.” Obi-Wan replied earnestly, scrutinizing her reaction as he eased himself into bed. “You…aren’t like the others. You don’t want me hurt.”

“I’m sorry about them. They’re old bats, they don’t understand that Jedi can have phobias. We’re not emotionless robots like they are. Healer Che is younger but she often agrees with the senior Healers on things.” Bant waved a hand. “They don’t want to hurt you, they just thought that-“

“They wanted to see me dead, just like I said before.”

“Why would you say that, Obi?” Bant frowned.

“I…don’t know. I just don’t feel safe here.” Obi-Wan sat up and grabbed her hand while she fiddled with his torn IV lines. “I-I have to help Qui-Gon, only he can fix this. He can fix everything that’s happened to me.”

“Obi, no one wants you to die.” Bant turned towards him and her face crumpled in worry further as she typed into the console by his bed. “You’re not well and…we’re going to figure out how to help you. Qui-Gon can’t help you, he’s-“

“Dead.”

They both said the word at the same time, Obi-Wan staring up at her with sunken, bloodshot eyes.

“I will be dead soon, whether by the Healers’ hands or my own, because if I can’t help Qui-Gon…the pain is too much to bear.”

Obi-Wan sunk back into the mattress, utterly exhausted. The ordeal before took a lot out of him. He didn’t realize just how far he had run. His legs were jelly and he wasn’t sure he could move them even if he wanted to. He had no energy left to argue.

“We can help with the pain, Obi-Wan.” The Mon Cala replied as she stuck the IV lines under his pallid skin.

“You can’t. It won’t go away. You might as well kill me yourself if you want me to live in pain or a haze for an interminable amount of time. That would make you crueler than anyone else here.”

Bant’s face twisted into shock, though she refused to answer. Obi-Wan turned away and allowed her to finish her work in silence.

For now, he must wait.

\-----

Anakin visited the next day. Obi-Wan didn’t have the energy to spare for the child’s excitement. He recognized him with difficulty, only the small little stub of a Padawan braid reminding him that Anakin was still his charge. The dreadlocked man who took care of him was foreign, however. He said his name was Quinlan, a frown melting into a horrific tearing of flesh and blood as his jaw dangled precariously by sinuous muscle. Obi-Wan couldn’t look in his direction.

“I’m your friend, Kenobi. Don’t you recognize me?”

“No. Not at all.” Obi-Wan replied flatly. “You’re a monster, just like the rest.”

The two adults sat in awkward silence while Obi-Wan’s mind wandered, staring out of the window at the morning traffic outside.

“Well, I know you, and you look like you got mauled by a rancor.”

As the man laughed, Obi-Wan had to agree based on what he could see in the window’s reflection. He hadn’t realized just how far gone he was until that moment.)His face was thin, his eyes barely looked alive, and his skin looked almost translucent. Dark circles and a frozen frown complemented the look.

He couldn’t recognize himself, either, he looked so strange, but he didn’t care much. The pain started to surpass the painkiller he’d been given, which meant he was about to hear from Qui-Gon. A quiet groan escaped his lips as he shut his eyes, pressing his palms to them as they burned from exhaustion.

_You don’t sleep, my Padawan. You only eat enough to appease the Healers. Why are you doing this? You can’t help me if you’re dying._

“Because you won’t show me you’re around, Qui-Gon. ”

The man was watching him when Obi-Wan turned back. Anakin skimmed over the patient information form, his face a display of naive puzzlement.

“What does it say, Quin?” Anakin asked, handing Quinlan the datapadd.

By the Council’s orders, Anakin wasn’t to be left alone with him now due to the potential for more episodes of harmful behavior. Still, he would rather take Anakin with him to find Qui-Gon than leave him with the monstrous visage that Quinlan passed for. The tattooed man looked over at him, his frown deepening as the strands of muscle threatened to break, but when Obi-Wan looked away in horror, the man sighed and started to read. Obi-Wan knew what it would say as Quinlan read off the screen.

_“Diagnosis: Instability, moderate to severe malnutrition, severe insomnia, unknown neuropsychological phenomena_

_Symptoms: Disordered eating(Self-identified lack of appetite noted at first meal given, insistence to eat was denied) and insomnia(Self-reported lack of sleep for 1-2 weeks, continued lack of sleep while in Healers’ care has been exhibited). Severe headaches(A result of an improperly broken Master/Padawan bond, as observed by a Spirit Healer). Extraordinary pain threshold observed._

_Extreme paranoia and delusional thinking patterns(“Extreme denial of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn’s death, insists on leaving the Order, and believes that the Jedi wish him dead or to be exiled” -Noted by Healer Eerin) profound, specific memory loss(Cannot remember identities of friends and those he holds in high esteem, considers them monstrous “traitors”)”_

_Cause/s: Unknown, will evaluate as treatment progresses_

_Treatment/s: Inpatient healing sessions for the wounds, specialized Spirit Healing sessions to follow to determine cause of instability. Will report cause to the Council when discovered. IV nourishment, medication therapy to continue._

_Notes: History of severe bacta tank anxiety, leading to broken tank units due to unconscious use of the Force as self-defense mechanism. No bacta tank therapy is permitted for this patient._

_Signed by: Healer Bant Eerin, overseen by Healer Vokara Che_

“What does all of that mean, Quin?” Anakin looked up and blinked.

“It means Obi-Wan isn’t doing too well right now, buddy.” Obi-Wan winced at the serious tone. Anakin didn’t need to worry. “He’s not eating or sleeping. The Healers don’t know why any of it is happening but they’re going to find out so that they can help him get better.”

“Just as I thought!” Anakin spoke with urgency uncharacteristic of a child. “He wouldn’t eat breakfast with me in the commissary…or any meals! He wouldn’t sleep at night, he went to the Archives a lot. Isn’t that right, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes didn’t leave the window as the two fell into emphatic discussion next to his bed. If he didn’t know the windows here were as thick as the length of two index fingers, he would try breaking it and jumping out, plummeting down the Temple’s wall in a bloody end. At least he wouldn’t have to be here with Anakin’s worry and the monster’s gaze at all. Obi-Wan’s head spun as the pain returned

_Want me to show you I’m here?_

Obi-Wan sat up, looking around frantically. Qui-Gon stood by the front door, just as he had looked before the Naboo crisis had even begun.

“Master!” he cried, flailing in his attempt to leave his bed. “Master Qui-Gon, you’re here!”

The monster held him down with arms that turned into disgusting tentacles no different than his hair. Obi-Wan screamed, clawing at the tentacles that wrapped around his arms.

“Let me go!” He cried. “Qui-Gon is here, he’s finally here!”

“Obi-Wan, there’s nothing there! Anakin, go get Healer Che!” The monster growled, his jaw dangling dangerously from sinew.

_I can’t lose you to the painkillers and sedatives this way, Obi-Wan. I won’t let you. Calm down and listen to me._

Obi-Wan flopped back onto the mattress, panting and watching Qui-Gon pace over to the window, looking outside.

“I miss you.” Obi-Wan lamented. “The rest of the Jedi betray me. I don’t know anyone here anymore, they’re all monsters. They think me insane.”

_You are._

“What?”

_Love will tear you apart._

“What?!”

_What if I told you I should have left you on Bandomeer? Leaving me here in limbo by getting yourself sedated is much the same feeling. Get ahold of yourself. Act as healthy as possible. And when the time comes, when you have the chance, leave. You’ll know where to go from there._

Obi-Wan wanted to cry but the tears didn’t come anymore. Qui-Gon would never lead him wrong…would he? The hands left his shoulders and he shoved his palms into his eyes again.

When he uncovered his eyes, Qui-Gon was gone.

“Obi-Wan?”

The monster was asking for him. He wouldn’t give that thing an answer. He left with Anakin and it was obvious they both didn’t seem ready or willing to return for more visits. Obi-Wan was fine with that, he couldn’t stomach that grotesque face and the terrible mop of tentacles on his head anymore. He let out the scream he’d been holding back into his pillow until his throat was hoarse and bloody. His fear coursed through him until he collapsed back onto the pillow, exhausted.

\-----

For a week, Obi-Wan had sat in his bed doing nothing but thinking about his escape. He had no other visitors since the third day, so Obi-Wan now sat in silence with little to do. They haven’t allowed him much due to his incident, too afraid he would injure someone like he tried to do before.

Nearly everyone had left him at this point and Obi-Wan didn’t want them around anymore.

Bant kept taking care of him until the sixth day, when she told him she was leaving for a mission. He had been fine with the change, one Healer looked no different than another these days, up until his evening check.

“Hello, Obi-Wan.”

A Zabrak Healer entered the room with a kind smile on his face that quickly soured. Black and red fluid dripped down the otherwise unfamiliar man’s skin, forming into an all too familiar pattern.

“Hello.” He tried to sound cordial, remembering Qui-Gon’s words.

“How are you today?”

Obi-Wan refused to look as Maul’s visage sat at the end of his bed.

“I’m fine. Feeling better.” He replied shortly. “I’m growing restless.”

“Oh, really?”

Maul turned to him and grinned, black teeth glinting in the sunlight.

“Well that’s a good thing. You weren’t doing so well a week ago.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, feeling a knot of anxiety building in his chest.

“I’ve improved, I suppose.”

Obi-Wan watched with barely contained fear as Maul approached. He flinched when a hand, warm and soft, wrapped around his wrist. It stayed there for a minute, as usual, which felt like an hour as his pulse was taken.

“Hm…your pulse is quite fast. Are you alright, Kenobi?” Maul’s face contorted into a hellish grin.

“I’m…fine.” Obi-Wan paused, trying to keep his breathing even and his fear away from his face and hidden behind his shields.

“Perhaps I should check your heart rhythm, then…” Maul mused, pulling his hand away from his wrist. “Irregularities may denote a new health problem. It wouldn’t do to have you fall ill on us, too.”

As his tunic was opened, gentle hands brushing his skin, Obi-Wan tried not to scream. He anticipated a red saber being thrust into his chest to finish the job Maul couldn’t do on Naboo. Instead, a small device was placed on his chest, cold and clinical rather than burning hot. Maul leaned in to see the display, pausing right by his ear. Cool breath accompanied by a soft, calm voice whispered over his skin.

“I live.”

“What?” Obi-Wan tried so hard to stay where he was in bed rather than sitting up and bolting out of the room. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Maul practically purred, saving face immediately. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I…yes.” Obi-Wan nodded, not trusting his voice anymore. “I didn’t…didn’t sleep well.”

In truth, he hadn’t slept through his entire visit once he was no longer given sedatives. He’d mimicked sleep in meditation well enough to convince the Healers he was sleeping on his own in the hopes of being released.

“Well…you’re due to be released in a day or two, if your behavior holds up, as long as you keep to a diet to increase your weight. The Healers are still concerned about that.”

Obi-Wan nodded mindlessly, watching as Maul stood back. Sweat coated his skin in a thin sheen as he tried not to do anything to antagonize Maul.

“Now tell me…”

Maul cracked his neck and grinned at him again.

“What makes you think losing legs kills a person?”

Pale, thin hands gripped his blanket as Obi-Wan fought against letting out a shriek. Maul’s legs contorted and broke until there were multiple, spindly legs on which he balanced, crawling up the wall. He placed himself above Obi-Wan’s head precariously and laughed.

“Such an innocent, close-minded view coming from a scared little Jedi whelp that can’t cope with losing his master.”

“You’re fake, just like everyone else.” Obi-Wan’s voice wavered, his conviction flagging. “I can deal with the traitors, the monsters, but not _you._ ”

“Oh, is someone scared? Too bad, you have to stay cooperative if you want to talk to Qui-Gon Jinn again.” Maul teased. “Do you want to get out and free your pathetic master from the purgatory I sent him to?”

“Yes, of course!” Obi-Wan cried. “Of course I do, you monster, you wouldn’t understand-!”

Maul twisted his head around, farther than he should have been able to, the cracking of his spine audible which left Obi-Wan nauseated.

“Then pay attention.”

Obi-Wan blinked in confusion and within that moment, Maul had vanished, leaving the Zabrak Healer who stared at him with bemusement.

“Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan felt his too-dry mouth open and close ridiculously like a fish. He could do nothing else. His skin felt clammy and he felt like he was about to be sick. He could still hear the popping of vertebrae and Maul’s voice in his ears as he quivered.

“Kenobi, are you alright? What did you see?” the Healer tried again.

Obi-Wan shook his head, too terrified and shaken to answer, and promptly leaned over the side of the bed and retched. Nothing came of it, not after so long with no appetite, but revulsion riled in his gut. The Healer rushed out of the room as his shoulders heaved and shook, likely to bring more Healers in, though Obi-Wan barely noticed. He had to regain his composure quickly before they thought he’d had another episode. He hoped they would simply write this off as nausea caused by lack of food.

Soon enough, a small cadre of Healers entered the room, and thankfully the urge to retch had passed by that time. Obi-Wan flopped back onto his bed, hoping the sweat on his face would mask the tears that fell. His chest heaved under his tunic and he let them check his vital signs and do whatever scans they wished. Luckily, they didn’t take long before leaving, letting Obi-Wan cry openly as he listened to the heated conversation outside his door.

“Who thought to send you in to handle Kenobi?!”

“It was Eerin, before she left! She told me to take her shifts, she thought I could handle his mental state well!”

“Didn’t she know that Sith was a Zabrak? Of course he would react badly!”

“Vokara, not everyone has gotten the same information. The Council is still keeping quiet about the matter.”

“Well, I’ll have to inform her later. Unfortunately, you’ll have to stay on Kenobi’s case, you do know the most about mental imbalances in humans. Most of us are at a loss with him.”

“Do you think Kenobi could still be released…?”

“I suppose, if he can rebuild his shields and emotional control. That still seems difficult for him.”

“I can work on that with him.”

Obi-Wan tuned out and wiped his eyes, watching his hands shake. He couldn’t fight back anymore. He just had to leave before Maul came back again. He wouldn’t wait around for more torture.

\-----

During a restless eighth night in the Halls of Healing, Obi-Wan prepared for his early morning departure by silently reprogramming the heart monitor to repeat the constant of his resting heart rate, making sure it matched the slightly elevated pulse it had been the entire time. It hadn’t been hard to watch the Healers type in the codes to the machines and memorize the pattern. He’s been watching his new Healer’s pattern, as well. There were few patients in the Halls on average, since healing could often be done with the Force for more minor to moderate injuries and the non-Force sensitive care took place only during the day and in the triage area. No one routinely prowled the hallways, so as long as he could avoid the main Healer’s station in the central hall where they all gathered, then he should have gone unnoticed. Security cameras weren’t installed in patient rooms for privacy’s sake, so the only ones he would have to avoid were the ones he’s seen when he was wheeled out to a transparisteel dome that acted as a balcony on the third day of his stay. The Healers insisted he be given sunlight to help his mood and reset his sleep schedule, but Obi-Wan’s only interest was in the cameras that periodically dotted the hallways. He noted where they were while he was pushed along, also noting hallways with locked doors and dead ends. He figured out the most expedient route out of the Healer’s complex. Figuring out the shortest route to the hangar bay was an en route task, unfortunately. All he knew was that it wasn’t too far, albeit being on the other side of the Temple.

When the chronometer on the heart monitor showed three in the morning, Obi-Wan slowly and silently unhooked himself from his IV drips and heart monitors. He stepped out into the Halls of Healing on bare feet, still in the white tunic and flowing pants that were standard. Obi-Wan navigated with flighty footsteps through the hallways, resourceful if not knowledgeable of the area. He had no lightsaber to protect himself in the event of resistance. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to. He pressed up against the walls when he came across the Halls’ security cameras, darting past when they weren’t focused on him, continuing his pace. It was a long way to the hangar bay, Obi-Wan knew, and the Halls of Healing would be easy to traverse. He would look even more out of place once he emerged into the main areas of the Temple ziggurat.

Obi-Wan felt his leg muscles cramp and give out on him near the main hall doors, tripping over himself and falling to the ground with a cry. He struggled to get them to work again as he could hear subdued voices from the nearby Healer’s station. His arms and legs were on fire, limbs weak with disuse and atrophy refusing to work. His head perked up from where it was bowed as he heard footsteps, panic written on his face as Healers turned the corner. Their faces were monstrous, all of them, grotesque deformities riddling their appearances beyond recognition. His legs quaked dangerously and pain spiked through them when he pushed himself off of the floor. He kept running, spotting the main doors ahead of him, which opened at his approach.

Only when he made his way out into the Temple proper and into a dimly lit hallway, dusty and disused, did Obi-Wan duck into an alcove just out of sight. He could hear the Healers scouring the halls and putting out notices over comms, waiting for the voices to fade before acting. There wouldn’t be anywhere to duck into to rest his legs from here, not until the ship in hangar bay, so Obi-Wan waited for his legs to stop quivering so much. The Main Hall would be his most difficult challenge to cross, as even now there would be a few nocturnal Jedi about, possibly even the two he ran into before.

Obi-Wan crept along the inside walls when the Healers’ voices faded, hiding behind pillars when possible. He just needed to find the nearest turbolift that would take him directly to the hangar bay. Weaving around pillar after pillar was how Obi-Wan stayed hidden. He was sure the Jedi that passed by sensed something off but he was gone before they could investigate. He found a turbolift that, blessedly, granted hangar bay access. He punched in his access code, only to grit his teeth when the console beeped its denial.

“Kriff…” he swore.

Obi-Wan fumbled with the panel while trying to remember the emergency access codes he’d learned from Qui-Gon. He growled when those, too, denied him access.

“Come on, come on…”

The emergency access codes he typed in were denied, one by one, until one from Master Tholme beeped its approval. Obi-Wan sighed, slumping against the lift wall for a short time, nearly numb legs splayed out in front of him as the doors closed. His consciousness flagged as his head began to pound dangerously, though he knew he had to stay awake at all costs. The ride was short and he pulled himself upright with the railing soon enough.

He was deposited in the far end of the hangar bay that was less populated and quieter, meant for personal craft. Qui-Gon still had a ship docked here, as he preferred to use other means of transportation. Perfect. Obi-Wan ducked behind a storage crate to wait for his opportunity to move. It was early morning and most of the bay attendants looked sleepy-eyed. The Temple employed non-Force sensitive engineers and mechanics in the bay, so none took notice of his presence. Obi-Wan ran for Qui-Gon’s ship when the attendants weren’t looking. Hopping into the cockpit, he decided to forego an astromech as it could be traced back to his ship. The closing of the cockpit alerted the attendants, though Obi-Wan could sense other Jedi close by as klaxons started to blare through the bay.

He tapped the carefully memorized coordinates for Dathomir into the computer and took off. The engineers were trying to close the bay doors but Obi-Wan knew his prowess with piloting would serve him well, speeding past the doors with seconds to spare. Only when he fell into orbit did he encounter resistance from Jedi. His headset erupted into activity as various Masters and comm towers’ controllers urged him not to proceed. He’d be subject to expulsion from the Order. Obi-Wan muted all the voices that made his head spin and heard a voice in his mind, one he recognized somehow but found utterly foreign. It sounded familiar, the same familiarity he felt with the Mon Cala he’d been treated by in the Halls.

_Obi-Wan…I cannot talk to you this way for long, as it takes considerable effort to push through the dark energy surrounding your mind._

_So this is how it feels to be fallen._

_I do not believe you have fallen, Obi-Wan, but I am not certain what is wrong. You would not fall._

_And how do you know that?_

_You would not dishonor Qui-Gon’s memory like this of your own volition. You would rather follow in his footsteps than give yourself to the Dark Side on Qui-Gon’s behalf._

_He was not like most of the Jedi…and neither are you._

_I am an old friend of yours, Obi-Wan._

_You’re the Kel-Dor I attacked. You have telepathy._

_Yes. I do not believe the Council will expel you for your assault. I will not let them use this empty threat against you._

_Are you going to aid my departure or are you going to hinder it?_

_You know where my duty lies, Obi-Wan. Your mind is extremely unstable at the moment and yet you refuse treatment. If you will not allow it, the Council had authorized that I detain you and use proper measures until you acquiesce._

_So you will stop me._

_I cannot condone your actions, for they go against the decision of the Council and would constitute your leaving the Order once again._

_That doesn’t sound promising._

_I can, however, try and convince the Council that you were too quick for me to apprehend._

_That sounds better. Almost kind._

_I have never been anything but kind to you, Obi-Wan. Be careful in your journey._

_Thank you._

_May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan._

Obi-Wan entered hyperspace without difficulty as the connection ceased, wondering just what he would find on Dathomir. His head split open and his vision whited out as he went to hyperspace, Qui-Gon’s contact reassuring with what he had just done.

_You did it, Padawan mine. I’m proud._

_Thank you…I couldn’t have without you._

_No one will hurt you anymore. Sleep._

\-----

Obi-Wan startled awake with a dazed yelp. The screech of warning sirens alerted him that his ship was not headed toward Dathomir, since Dathomir didn’t have asteroids and meteors surrounding it. Fighting through wave currents of radiation that threatened to pull his tiny ship apart, Obi-Wan gripped the controls in white-knuckled fingers, shoving back his fear. He sealed the cockpit against the radiation further and put up shields as strong as the vessel could allow.

“Computer, where am I?” he asked.

The coordinates he was given tell him he was in the Kessel sector, right near Kessel in fact, and right in the heart of the most dangerous part of the Kessel Run, the Maw. The empty void of space, barren of planets and filled with black holes, beckoned to him.

The ship was breaking apart. Closing his eyes, he recited the Code to keep himself calm as the shrieking, tearing metal surrounded him in blackness. Sweet, dreamless unconsciousness, took him soon after.

\-----

_I have to stop waking up this way…_

Soft grasses tickled his cheek where he lay as Obi-Wan opened his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. There was something strange, an energy or something, that took far longer to place than usual as he looked around his environment.

This certainly wasn’t Kessel. The planetoid was barren of most life save for the slaves and prisoners in the mines. There weren’t many other planets around in the system and all were mostly barren of life due to the Maw’s radiation and other factors.

So where was he?

His headache was gone. His mind was clear and free of pain for the first time in what felt like forever without the haze of painkillers. He allowed himself to revel in the warmth and softness for a time, rejoicing in the feeling of being pain-free. The sun shone warm and inviting on his face, lulling him into a pleasant daze. Obi-Wan couldn’t tell how much time passed as he lay in the warm sun on the soft grass, feeling nothing from his head. He was blissfully numb here.

He opened his eyes and noted that the flora was bright and diverse, varying species that he couldn’t place dotting the clearing he laid in.

_Qui-Gon would know them. He used to grow everything._

Rustling in a nearby thicket of tall, flowering bushes made Obi-Wan startle and hop to his feet, feeling for his lightsaber before realizing that it had been taken from him. A tall figure with a menacing shadow stepped out, the shadow curling and twisting around the tree trunks and bushes before shrinking down to meet the body of the owner. His graying hair shone in the sun far more luminously than Obi-Wan had seen before and his eyes twinkled with familiar, genuine kindness. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite close his jaw as the figure spoke in a rich baritone he thought he’d never hear again.

“Hello, Padawan mine. Welcome to my home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I tried to make the Healers as compassionate as possible from the perspective of someone who fears and hates them. I don't think the Jedi would be unkind to him in this state, they just wouldn't know what to do since such severe mental illness doesn't happen in their ranks very often, if at all. Also, in my own personal hindsight, I've had to learn that while some people don't know what to do with you, they're trying their best. That best may not be what you need or want, but it's there. So yeah, I didn't want to make the Healers, some of the most compassionate of the Order, into true monsters, but hey, Obi-Wan views them as such.


	4. How the Shadows Come to Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's left in confused contemplation while Plo decides he's taking matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry this is so late! I've started a new job and I've been really busy. This is also the most exposition-heavy chapter that I have, which meant a TON of dialogue had to be written, rewritten, edited...you get the idea. Honestly, I love and hate this chapter. I hate writing exposition, like everyone else. I'm scared to put it up, but it has to go up at some point so I can continue forward. I also need to go to bed, I'm up at 7am for work again tomorrow.
> 
> Fun fact: A non-canon book(The Jedi Path) showed that my handwriting is super similar to Obi-Wan’s, which is why I say he has scrawl more than delicate handwriting. I wanted to hand write the journal entries but I figured that would be inaccessible and annoying. 
> 
> That being said, I don't think there's anything I need to warn about in the tags again, but just so you all do, please check the tags! They do change on occasion.

“Kenobi has fallen. I have seen for myself that he has changed.” Ki-Adi warned. “We’ve seen this with other former Jedi that lost their Masters. The assassin Asajj Ventress, for example, is a case from not too long ago.”

“Much anger in Kenobi, I sensed.” Yoda added. “Though not entirely wrong, he was, for feeling such. Curious, it was. Signs of falling before Qui-Gon’s death, there were not. With Ventress, signs, there were. Always signs before one falls, there are.”

“He attempted to take Master Koon’s life, Master.” Mace’s normally dour expression was no different. “Surely that’s a sign if there ever was one.”

Plo wrung his hands and gazed around the windowed chamber with disappointment. The meeting regarding Obi-Wan’s status had been going on for longer than he wished it would and it seemed like nothing had been discussed in that time. He did very little of the talking and mostly listened, despite having called the meeting himself in the first place. Still, it was difficult not to speak in Obi-Wan’s defense when everyone was against him. He was sure the Dark Side influence on Obi-Wan’s mind was not there of his own volition. That was why he had called the meeting, though it was obvious that that point was not the one the Council wished to focus on.

“Council.”

Plo’s voice struggled to carry over the din as Kel-Dor voices often did, trying again to no avail. His request was lost in the current of the argument, floating out of recognition. He would have to resort to extreme measures to ensure he was heard.

_I have to show them if they are to understand._

Focusing on the minds in the room, Plo stood up abruptly. The other Council members looked at him curiously as he spread his hands in front of him, roughened palms toward the ceiling, and shut his eyes to concentrate. He planted his feet firmly on the floor as he touched each mind, recognizing the shields individually. He wordlessly asked permission of the Council to allow him entry and all of the others acquiesced.

_I am going to show you what I saw of Obi-Wan before he escaped. The memories may be biased, but they are as accurate as I can recall them to be._

Plo projected to each mind, wincing as the Dark Side energy seemed to fill him with dread and fear. Plo felt the same in everyone else, as well as realization that their assumptions had possibly been false. One moment sent a ripple throughout the minds that Plo connected to, one of shock.

_“You can’t make me.” Obi-Wan made a harsh sound that must have torn his throat to make. “I will leave this place, whether you traitors desire it or not. Qui-Gon needs me to help him.”_

_He shifted where he stood, the notion of Obi-Wan’s harsh denial becoming increasingly concerning. He tried to reach out, tried to press his mind, and felt an unusually strong block where none should have been. It didn’t even seem like Obi-Wan had known he’d tried to reach into his mind, which was even more concerning._

_“Obi-Wan…” He paused, feeling a strange reluctance to speak the truth, but it was easily quashed. “Qui-Gon is-“_

_“Stop lying to me!”_

_Obi-Wan’s form seemed to shift slightly for a moment, as if on a choppy holo projection, before his eyes. Obi-Wan’s expression went blank as a shadow seemed to grow around Obi-Wan before swiftly disappearing into his body. Moments later, he drew his lightsaber and lunged._

_He couldn’t fight Obi-Wan, not like this. He lifted Obi-Wan’s body into the air before he could strike and tossed him out of reflex rather than training as Obi-Wan’s saber deactivated and skidded across the marble floor. Picking it up, he sheathed it inside his robes before striding over to the body that lay prone by a toppled chair, curled up and whimpering._

_“Obi-Wan…” He tried to soothe, trying to tamp down the pity he felt and the sadness it brought him. “Let me help. You are in tremendous pain.”_

_“You can’t help me.” Obi-Wan replied weakly, easing up onto an arm._

_He couldn’t. Whatever madness had taken over Obi-Wan, it was stronger than he could control or anyone else. Even the Healers would have trouble controlling such chaotic energy. He wanted to let Obi-Wan go but would he ever return again? He couldn’t take the risk. Obi-Wan’s voice, frantic and weak, rambled in the background as he called the Healers for a medical emergency._

_Hallucinations. Of course they weren’t real, yet they were real to Obi-Wan.  He hadn’t said a word and Obi-Wan was carrying on a conversation with him regardless, upset about hearing Qui-Gon’s voice. Only pain stopped his increasingly worried ranting as Obi-Wan screamed, a harsh and guttural cry that was sure to have torn his throat. He knelt and rested his hands on those thin, fragile shoulders to keep the writhing form still._

_“Sleep, Obi-Wan.” He murmured under the screaming, lacing the suggestion with the strongest mind trick he could muster. “The pain will not harm you any longer.”_

_As Obi-Wan’s body stilled under his hands, he sighed and shut his eyes. He could hear the Healers arrive within a minute or two, immediately getting him onto a gurney before placing a neuro-cardiac monitor on his temple. He gave Obi-Wan up to their care and following behind to answer questions, musing over what just happened._

Plo gently disconnected his mind from the other Council members’ minds before bringing himself back to the room. There was a bated sigh of relief from all in the room, openly showing their relief at being free from the memories. Plo visibly shuddered and held the sides of his head gingerly. He rarely used his telepathy in recent decades, let alone on an entire room full of people. The stress had been hard on his own mind and body as he less than gracefully collapsed into his seat. Others next to him reached out in concern but he sent them feelings of calm. He would be alright with time and rest, though he had the feeling rest might not be forthcoming anytime soon.

“I apologize for the nature of my intrusion and I hope you will forgive me.” Plo panted slightly behind his mask. “I had to illustrate my point in the best way I could.”

“Understood.” Mace pinched the bridge of his nose. “What, pray tell, did we just see?”

“Obi-Wan asked for a private audience with me, presumably thinking that my connection to him would make me more amenable to agree to his request than the Council as a whole. The situation escalated once I refused him and in a way I failed to control.”

“And the…shadow?” Ki-Adi asked reluctantly.

“I thought the moment was caused by my eye covers or an odd shadow from the sun’s rays into the room.” Plo kept his gaze confident. “Whatever this magic is, it hid itself very well within Obi-Wan if we as Jedi were not able to sense it. Fortunately, however, the control had slipped somehow and became visible. I did not realize it was a manifestation at all, in fact, until it was too late. By that time, Obi-Wan had escaped the Halls and was attempting to leave Coruscant.”

“Happened then, what did?” Yoda asked. “Let him go, surely you did not? Reluctance, you showed, in your meeting with Knight Kenobi. Strong feelings to let him go, you had. ”

“No. I was, regrettably, too late in finding my ship and pursuing Obi-Wan.” Plo settled back in his chair, hoping he believed his lie enough for Yoda to believe it, too. “I was, however, able to speak with him telepathically before he jumped to hyperspace. The strong blockade in Obi-Wan’s mind, the one that barred me from entering before, had dropped.”

“And?”

“His mind was much clearer to me when in direct contact. Obi-Wan was suffering, Masters, at the hand of a cruel illusion designed to have him go mad and follow this trail to an unknown end. Whatever the energy is has lured him away from us quite against his will, even if he persisted in his speech that he wanted to leave. It had saturated every part of his mind. Obi-Wan’s spirit seemed untouched, oddly enough, though for what reason I cannot tell you.”

“What could have done this to him?” Yarael questioned, a shifting underneath his robes signifying his secondary arms fidgeting in discomfort. “The Sith may have returned but…even a Sith lord couldn’t control a person from anywhere in the galaxy and convince a Jedi to go on a suicide mission without direct contact.”

Adi frowned, her voice level despite her stiff posture. “Are the rest of the Jedi susceptible to this? How are we to protect ourselves?”

The Council members almost unanimously looked back to Plo for answers.

“When Obi-Wan tried to attack me, it became clear what the nature of his state was in my mind. Later, I strengthened my suspicions by recalling the memory through meditation.” Plo explained.

“Can you share with us your suspicions, Master Koon?” Mace asked expectantly.

“Yes.” Plo crossed his legs and continued. “I believe he has been telepathically manipulated via a means stronger than any Jedi or Sith can wield.”

“Possession.” Mace’s expression soured with skepticism as he interrupted. “You think he was possessed.”

“Yes and no, and I would appreciate it highly if you would contain your overt skepticism. I am not the director of a holo-film, I am a Jedi. I would not believe such a thing if it did not seem plausible.” Plo scowled.

He knew Mace would be the hardest to convince from the get go and it wasn’t looking any different now. In fact, many of the Council members shifted in their seats and muttered to one another at the notion he presented. It was clear many were not convinced at all, something that deeply disappointed him. For Jedi, many of them didn’t seem to understand that the Force was stronger than any mere being and could manifest from other sources.

“How do you know that?” Saesee shifted his legs, clearly unsettled by the notion. “How do we know he hadn’t simply fallen? This has happened before after the loss of a Master or Padawan in a tragic way. He could be using the pain he feels from his starvation to fuel his anger and hatred. It could be a plot to have us feel pity for him, that’s much more logical.”

“There are no prior signs of such severe instability and specific memory loss anywhere in Obi-Wan’s records before. Whatever this behavior is, it was not a result of natural seduction to the Dark Side.” Plo gestured to the figures in the room. “His anger and hatred seem to be towards the Jedi, yet his mind suggested his hatred comes from an outside source rather than his own opinions.”

“How can you tell? There’s no way to distinguish between one’s thoughts and thoughts that were put there by another person unless they’ve been in close, continual contact.” Mace frowned. “If Obi-Wan hasn’t been talking with someone who would put such anti-Jedi sentiments in his mind, and there seems to be no evidence for that being the case, then he must be thinking of these things himself.”

“There are no Sith lords here, that is true.” Plo sighed. “Dooku never had any contact with Obi-Wan before he left the Order and there is no one in the Temple who seems to be slipping either, by our reckoning. So far, it has just been Xanatos and Padawan Chun, Dooku, and now Obi-Wan.”

“Dead, both Xanatos and Bruck are.” Yaddle added. "A conundrum, we have."

“Precisely.” Plo nodded. “I did not sense a change in the Force within the Temple aside from Obi-Wan and that change only occurred upon his arrival from Naboo. If there were a Sith in our presence, we would know it. As it is, the Dark Side energy is coming from another origin.”

“Mm, explain Kenobi’s sudden change, possession might.” Yoda piped up. “A Sith, Kenobi is not. Too sudden, too little prior evidence. Possible, yes, but unlikely. Possession, it could very well be.”

Their discussions went on for another hour and Plo only partially listened in. His head ached quite harshly, only more so as he thought about Obi-Wan’s situation. How could he have survived such debilitating pain and emaciation for so long when others would have collapsed? While the others talked among themselves, he quietly excused himself. There was something he needed to have retrieved.

He had a theory, one he might be way off track with, but it was worth it to try looking into it. The magic forms of the galaxy were vast and he believed that the Nightsisters’ magic was not the one that drew Obi-Wan away from them. Obi-Wan had a journal, one he’d written his notes into. He needed to see what was on the pages and, more importantly, see the memories of the contents being written. Luckily, there was one person in the Temple who could do such a thing.

Pressing a few buttons on his communicator, Plo waited as Quinlan’s voice floated up through the speaker.

“What do you need, Master Plo? Kinda late for the kiddo so I’m trying to get him to bed…not having kids of my own, that’s for sure.”

Plo heaved a sigh. Knight Vos was his normal self, even amidst the chaos and unrest the Temple seemed to be facing in the wake of Obi-Wan’s decline.

“There is something I need to discuss with you regarding Knight Kenobi. Put Padawan Skywalker to bed and meet me in my quarters.”

“Alright, gotcha.” Quinlan replied. “C’mon, kiddo, bed!”

Happy laughter was how the comm cut off and Plo sighed again, shaking his head. He found that he struggled to let that go into the Force.

\-----

Quinlan arrived quickly, only having been a few doors down. Plo quickly donned his mask and eye covers, switching the atmosphere and temperature to a more human-friendly climate with a panel as the door chimed.

“So, Master Plo, what’s going on?” Quinlan stood tall in the doorway, his trademark confident grin ever in place.

“Come inside, please.” Plo gestured inward towards his couch, which Quinlan happily slouched on. “Tea?”

“Nah, man, can’t drink the stuff anymore now that I live on caf while on missions.” Quinlan waved a hand in the air. “It’s just water with leaves in it, I need stronger stuff.”  

Quinlan set his feet up on the table in front of the couch with a contented smile, which made Plo sigh. Social mores were very quickly lost on Vos, particularly since his specialties had garnered him a lot of reconnaissance and information-seeking missions in the Underworld. Plo had to restrain himself from lecturing the young man on the rudeness of using a table as foot support.

“The Council met this morning regarding Knight Kenobi.” Plo began, bringing over his tea set and a cup of water for Quinlan. “You have been kept abreast of his status, Quinlan, considering you are Skywalker’s guardian at the moment, correct?”

“Not…not really.” Quinlan sat up a little straighter. “I kind of just…took Anakin under my wing after it was made known that Kenobi wasn’t well. Nobody ever said anything, I guess they assumed since we’re friends, it was a natural segue, y’know?”

“So do you know anything about him right now?” Plo pressed, watching him carefully as his tea steeped.

“I read his intake form in the Halls. He’s got some sort of mental issue and it’s made him thin and something about headaches. Why, is that not it?”

“Not exactly.” Plo crossed his legs. “Obi-Wan’s left the Temple.”

“Left?!” Quinlan parroted. “What do you mean he left, is he alright?”

“By what I can feel of our connection, limited as it is, he’s alive at the very least. He escaped the Halls of Healing and somehow, miraculously, made it to the hangar bay. From there, he stole a ship and left for an unknown location. I assume it was Dathomir, but I cannot be certain.”

“Why Dathomir, though?”

Plo exhaled and held his teacup for the warmth. “That is what I want you to find out. He only insisted that I allow him access.”

“Is he still assumed to be a Jedi?”

“Yes. We do not believe he is acting in the ways befitting of a Sith in the making. He has not been expelled from the Order for his actions, citing extenuating circumstances beyond his control.” Plo recounted. “However, we need to know more about the nature of this…power that has corrupted him.”

“Dark energy?” Quinlan questioned curiously.

“All we know is that he has been exhibiting self-destructive behaviors and severe headaches, along with a disturbing delusion that every Jedi is a traitor. He wished to kill me at one point and I can assume he would try to do so for other Jedi if provoked. We believe that the Dark energy is the cause, though we have no solid hypotheses on what it could be.”

“He tried to hurt you?” Quinlan’s eyes widened. “He’s not violent in the least.”

“In this instance, Vos, we cannot know if he is or isn’t. Obi-Wan’s thoughts alerted me to a journal he kept. In it, he claimed, were his “notes.” I believe they may hold more information…and may give us a direction to search in for him.”

“So…the Council wants to look for Obi-Wan?” Quinlan’s face lit up in hope as he jumped up from the couch. “Sweet!”

“Calm down, Knight Vos. We have to organize a plan.”

“A plan? Organize?” Quinlan laughed. “That’s not how I do things, old man.”

“Then let us start searching immediately, if you prefer. You will find the journal on a shelf in Obi-Wan’s quarters.” Plo stood and ignored the epithet. “That is as much as I know, though you very well may know which one it is when you find it.”

“That’s more than I’ve had to go on for many of my missions.” Quinlan smiled at him, shrugging.

“Very well.” Plo nodded. “Be careful, Vos. There is no telling whether or not that energy can invade the minds of other Jedi. You must be strong to withstand it. I am certain that Obi-Wan succumbed because he was already mentally weakened by Master Jinn’s death.”

“Got it. Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with some baddies before, this should be easy.”

“I do not think that the fact that this happened in the wake of the return of the Sith is a coincidence.” Plo rested a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder as they approached the door. “This is not simple spy work and stakeout positions, Vos, be on alert.”

As Quinlan left, Plo switched the atmosphere in his quarters back to Dorin standard, removing his mask and eye covers for the evening. He felt a ripple through the Force that left him unsettled.

He knew whatever was contained in that journal would only confirm that Obi-Wan’s life was in mortal danger.

\-----

Quinlan found Obi-Wan’s door easily enough. He manipulated the lock mechanism within the front door with a bit of the Force. The tampering wouldn’t be evident and even if he had been found to be snooping, he had a Jedi Master’s authorization. Still, he didn’t wish to be seen as having visited the room at all, as was his way.

The scene inside was downright macabre when Quinlan’s mind focused back onto the present, only realizing that his feet had inadvertently landed on the remains of Obi-Wan’s destroyed possessions while he walked inside. His eyes widened in shock as his eyes traveled around the living room area. Dried blood covered much of the floor and some of the walls, broken transparisteel and wood framing scattered among the wreckage of datapadds and other items. The blinds on the large living room window were drawn, drawing thin lines of light upon the massacred belongings. The aura in the room was thick with what he could only assume was the Dark energy that Plo had mentioned. This wasn’t the room of a Sith in the making, this was something different. Quinlan felt that Darkness pressing down upon him, as if it had been here a significant amount of time, oppressive and inescapable. He bolstered his mind so it couldn’t invade him, too.

_Kenobi lived in this every day. No wonder he sent Anakin off as much as he could. He wanted to protect him rather than reject him._

As he struggled to walk gingerly around the wreckage, each piece Quinlan contacted unintentionally sent him into a memory. He realized Obi-Wan’s attachment to Qui-Gon had been stronger than he had ever imagined. Obi-Wan didn’t just admire his master, he _loved_ him like a romantic partner might. Obi-Wan was willing to _die_ to be reunited with Qui-Gon, which brought tears to Quinlan’s eyes. In at least one memory, he almost did. Only the scream of Anakin waking from a nightmare meant Obi-Wan dropped his saber and rushed to Anakin’s bedroom. Other memories showed the destruction of the room, bloody hands pierced with transparisteel shards sliding down the wall as Obi-Wan seemed to return to himself, sobbing.

“How did no one notice this?” Quinlan murmured to no one, his voice bouncing off the walls.

The worst part was when he spied a blood-smeared frame around a picture, reluctant to pick it up. Obi-Wan was grinning proudly as he held a small cake, Qui-Gon standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder. It was abandoned beside a bookshelf with a few intact books, the energy seeming to radiate from the bottom shelf. With a slightly tremulous hand, he reached out to grab the frame and felt himself almost physically thrown into the memory.

_“Qui-Gon, I won’t fit in the picture so close up!”_

_“You’re too short, Padawan mine, you need to grow.”_

_“I can’t help it…not everyone is a mountain like you.”_

_“I like to think of myself as a tall tree.”_

_Obi-Wan laughed and elbowed him._

_“Just get this blasted photo taken so I can forget it’s my birthday again.”_

_“You’ll always remember as long as I’m around. Happy birthday, Obi-Wan.”_

Quinlan surfaced once again, feeling vertigo start to kick in from all of the memories that have rushed at him in such a short span of time. He had to take a moment to center himself before continuing, kneeling to reach the bottom shelf.  Most of the contents were just inconsequential novels or manuals, some tomes on Jedi history or philosophy that had to be Obi-Wan’s by the content, and other miscellaneous things. One book stood out to him between all of the others, the blood-streaked spine made of some sort of faux leather and embossed with Obi-Wan’s initials. If it wasn’t the source of the energy, then it was the only place outside of Obi-Wan that held it. This Quinlan truly felt nervous about touching, knowing there were bound to be memories once touched, none of them pleasant.

_I’m doing it for Kenobi. He’s out there somewhere and we have to bring him back._

No sooner than his fingers brushed the smooth material did memories, numerous and all too vivid, hit him with enough force that he fell backwards onto the floor.

_“Speak to me, please, please…!”_

_Obi-Wan paced around the living room, a shadow seeming to follow his steps, curling in on his weak, shaking form. Fingers coated with blood scratched lines into his arms out of anxiety, bluish veins prominent in the pale, clammy skin. The hunger pangs had all but stopped or they had become secondary to his headaches and he wondered when he had had his last meal._

_“Tell me how to reach you, Qui-Gon, I need you, I can’t live without you here…”_

**_Let me guide you, Padawan mine…_ **

_Obi-Wan collapsed to his knees, holding his head and smearing blood over his face and head as the shadow retreated into him. Everything turned white until Obi-Wan reappeared, writing in shaky handwriting, scribbling furiously over the pages. When the pen shook right out of his hand from tremors, Obi-Wan broke down into silent tears._

_“I can’t take this…they want me to die and I want to do it for them.” he muttered, bony fingers covering his eyes. “I don’t want to die but if it makes them happy, makes them stop turning into vile creatures…maybe it would be for the best.”_

_Tears fell onto the pages, staining them with his misery as he quietly lamented. Anakin appeared in the doorway, looking nervous as Obi-Wan quickly wiped his face._

_“Master Obi-Wan?”_

_“Go back to bed, Anakin. It’s three AM.”_

_“But why is the living room a mess?”_

_“I’ll take care of it.”_

_“And your…your arm and hand…”_

_“I’ll take care of it in the morning. Go sleep.”_

_“Master Obi-Wan, I can’t sleep…”_

_The hand holding his pen paused only long enough for the other to raise, waving in a familiar gesture._

_“You will go to bed and sleep.”_

_“I will go to bed and sleep.”_

_“You will forget this.”_

_“I will forget this.”_

_As Anakin left, Obi-Wan stared at the paper as the words blurred again with tears._

_“He can’t know…he’s too young…” Obi-Wan whispered._

**_You have kept Anakin unaware this long, you can keep doing so. He musn’t know._ **

_Obi-Wan silenced his screams by biting his free hand, not wanting to alert Anakin as the headache started again and his vision whited out._

Quinlan surfaced, realizing that he, too, was biting his own free hand to keep quiet. Forcing his hand away from the book meant the pain stopped and Quinlan rolled onto his side, taking great gulps of air to keep from being sick. That pain was beyond any he had felt before, all-encompassing and past the point of what most could take.

_How had Kenobi survived that?_

His hand met a dry, flaky feeling as he pushed himself up from where he laid. Quinlan realized with a jolt from the Force that he had fallen into a dried pool of blood. Tears sprung to his eyes as he scrabbled away before the memory that brought him could start, fearing the rest of the memories Obi-Wan’s quarters held. His friend had lived in complete and total misery since Qui-Gon’s death, to the point where he would self-injure, only to have his mind corrupted and taken over. Obi-Wan had, Quinlan realized, just wanted whatever consumed him to stop and that was the worst part about it all. Something, that Dark energy, hadn’t allowed him to do that. The energy Quinlan felt in the room shifted slightly, almost like a bristle of pride if he knew it was sentient.

_He wasn’t allowed. He couldn’t die even if he wanted to and he feared us enough that he did._

The shelf nearby still held the journal, but Quinlan was loathe to touch it again with his bare skin. Finding a haphazard robe Obi-Wan had discarded lying around, he got to his feet shakily and grabbed it. He scoured the shelf’s contents, making sure there was nothing else there.

Quinlan exited Obi-Wan’s quarters swiftly, quaking in his boots. Finding the nearest restroom, he ducked in and locked himself in a stall, promptly vomiting like he’d wanted to before. All of the pain, anger, and sadness had overwhelmed him as it hadn’t ever done before, the memories burned into his own mind like a brand. The aura of the room had been disgusting and vile, turning his stomach at the thought.

When he felt better, Quinlan got up and wiped his mouth, exiting the stall to wash his hands and mouth with disposable towels, looking at himself in the mirror while splashing water onto it.

He recognized his own face. He had to be sure. He wasn’t a monster, and yet Obi-Wan was so sure he was.

Picking the book up from the floor where he’d dropped it in haste, Quinlan left for Plo’s quarters, each step ringing hollowly in his ears.

\-----

Plo was drinking his morning tea when the door chime rang. Switching the atmosphere and retrieving his mask and eye covers, he put them on before opening the door.

“Quinlan?” He asked carefully. “It is five in the morning. What took so long?”

“Just take it.” Quinlan shoved the robe-covered book into Plo’s hands. “I can’t touch it.”

Quinlan was still young, not much older than Obi-Wan himself. Plo knew sending such a young Knight on a task related to the Dark Side in this manner would be strenuous. Plo nodded and gestured to lead him inside, noting how Quinlan’s hands shook minutely and his eyes had dark rings developing around them, sinking the tattooed skin.

“Obi-Wan will be grateful for your help.” Plo soothed, taking his arm gently in his hand. “Come, sit with me. I will make you tea.”

Quinlan merely nodded, sitting upright on the couch this time. He was uncharacteristically quiet, in fact, as he sank down on Plo’s couch heavily. There was a lot on Quinlan’s mind, more than he could tell Quinlan wanted to speak about.

“Would you rather I see your thoughts than speak them aloud?” Plo asked from the little kitchenette, pouring a cup of tea. “You need not speak in my presence if it will cause you more upset.”

“…yes, please. I…I couldn’t tell you what I felt in there in words. It was…was…”

Plo came back to find Quinlan holding his head in his hands, sensing a headache there. He set the teacups and their saucers down on the table and sat with him. Plo coaxed him into removing his hands from his face gently.

“Let me see. I need your hands if I am going to help.”

“What are you…?” Quinlan trailed off, confused.

Holding his hands, Plo concentrated and winced when the memories came flooding to him. Indeed, Dark energy coated the massacred room, exploring through Quinlan’s eyes as he navigated the room through memories alone. Sifting through Quinlan’s memories of his time there, he kept soothing the young Knight and trying to lessen the pain he felt when recounting. The Dark energy, the pain, the anguish, Plo took it all into himself with a shudder, processing and letting the feelings and thoughts go to the Force, only to do another round and more until Quinlan’s mind was more at ease. When he finished, he let go of Quinlan’s hands, nodding.

“Do you feel better?”

“Yeah…yeah, my headache’s gone. Thanks.” Quinlan smiled tiredly, an off-kilter version of his trademark grin. “It’s just…I knew he was getting quieter. Obi-Wan never said anything, just…after Qui-Gon’s death, he just shut down. The next thing I know, I’m taking care of his Padawan while he’s in the Halls of Healing recovering from…we don’t even _know_ if he _was_ recovering _._ He didn’t know who I was, it was clear when he looked at me. I was a monster to him or something, he always had a look of fright on his face. Force, something was very wrong and nobody kriffing knew until it was too late!”

“That is often his way, Knight Vos.” Plo folded his hands around his cup of tea, ignoring the language for now. His own head ached so the warmth was a soothing relief, even if he couldn’t drink it. “He does not seek help, too bent on trying to solve his problems himself. It seems this one was far more insidious than he could handle alone and very well may have been too much before he even knew it was there.”

“Apparently so.” Quinlan agreed, sighing heavily. “Still…I wish he would have reached out to us.”

“That makes two of us.” Plo sighed. “Unfortunately, that is not his way at all.”

“What do you think it is, Master Koon?” Quinlan asked. “That made him go mad, I mean. Can you guess from what you saw?”

“I have a theory, Knight Vos, and I think this can help me find out how far Obi-Wan’s corruption went.”

Plo turned his gaze down to the journal. Running his fingers over the cover, Plo opened it and skimmed over the pages. The first entries were mindful journaling, seemingly long ago by the content. He skimmed over many of the entries, though his eyes caught a few.

_Master Qui-Gon insists I write my thoughts in this journal to reduce the amount of stress flowing through our bond. I don’t understand what I’ll gain from the process, but I’ll try. He says it’ll help us both by stopping the feedback loop it causes through our bond. I don’t know how to do this, in all honesty. I feel weird writing like this. He says I can write however I want or draw, even compose music. I don’t know how to do anything like that. I don’t even know if I can sing. I’ve never tried. Qui-Gon says my humming is off-key and off-tune so I probably shouldn’t._

_I killed Bruck. I don’t know what to do. I’m a murderer. I feel disgusting, like my skin no longer fits my body, like it’s not my own. I want to cry but at the same time…I feel better knowing he’s not here anymore. It’s sick, but I cannot deny how I feel. I should be punished. Xanatos is dead, but I feel no triumph or catharsis with his suicide. I wanted to take his life, as terrible as it sounds. I can’t think on thoughts like those, Qui-Gon says. They’re shameful and lead to the Dark side, but…I can’t help it. I’ll meditate in the gardens and punish myself for such thoughts later._

_I haven’t written here in years. Perhaps I should just throw this old, ratty thing out._

_Not much time to write nowadays. On the run, hungry, tired…we’re protecting the Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore from bounty hunters. She’s…I have no words. I am stricken with a feeling not often felt, but…I feel it for Master Qui-Gon, as well. Surely that’s wrong, to feel affection and…dare I say love for two people, right? I may give this journal up if it isn’t lost by the time our mission is over…I simply do not feel like it is necessary anymore now that my emotional control is solid. I don’t know why I write my feelings down anymore. I have someone I can share them with now…if she says yes. I am too nervous to say anything to Qui-Gon, but my heart and soul yearns for him in a way deeper than our training bond. I want him for myself, to have and hold, forever. Possession is against the morals of the Code, however. If only I could-_

The entry stopped abruptly with a spattering of blood. Plo could only assume that the situation had gone downhill. Towards the back of the journal, the content veered toward what Plo had feared would be there. Quinlan shifted beside him, clearly uneasy. Notes on the Nightsisters or names of specific leaders, coordinates of the planet written numerous times and taking up the entire page, and notes on Jedi history involving madness scrawled on the pages haphazardly made Plo’s brow crease in worry. More journaling was interspersed, rantings and venting about the Council, the Order itself, and his own life.

_I heard muffled laughter in my bedroom just now, like a woman’s laugh. I checked the entire suite but no one was around. Perhaps someone in the adjacent suite was laughing. My head still hurts, so I cannot get back to sleep. It’s odd…it won’t stop hurting even though I arrived back on Coruscant a day ago. I’ll try to meditate again, though I imagine I’ll have as good of luck as I did twenty minutes ago. Master would know how to help. Perhaps I can talk to him. His spirit is still around, like he said. He taught me the same thing, so I know he should be there._

_I feel sick. I might be, since I haven’t eaten in days. Sleep still eludes me, yet I remain perfectly functional. I need to speak with Qui-Gon. He can help. I don’t know how to contact him. Our bond was shattered and he hasn’t said anything or shown up as a ghost. Still, I feel his presence in my mind and I’m determined to contact him. Will try the planetarium tomorrow as a last resort. I have a feeling he may be there, but it isn’t a good feeling. Qui-Gon can’t be lost, he has to become the ghost he told me he would be…that I would be, eventually._

_Master Koon and her younglings do not know what they narrowly missed. I spoke to Qui-Gon! He’s hurting, presumably quite badly, and I have to find his spirit. I hope I can before it’s too late. I couldn’t live with myself if I let him become trapped in limbo. I have to go to Dathomir._

Plo was unsurprised to see his sister mentioned in the journal. He’d felt something wrong from Sui that day, a feeling of being unsettled that soon left and was peacefully neutral once more. This, at the very least, explained it.

_The information on Dathomir and the Sith was highly classified. Master Nu would not let me access it, so I did something I probably shouldn’t have and fought my way in during the night. Computer systems only need so much tweaking before security shields can be brought down. I wrote down enough information, at least for now. I was pressed for time as I had to work while the Archivists were not paying attention. I reapplied the shields before anything would be missed, however. I’m grateful for my lack of sleep, honestly, it’s helping me gather more information and I don’t have nightmares._

_I blacked out and ended up on the floor just now. Not sure how. There’s blood…I’m bleeding. My nose, I think. I must have become lightheaded. What…oh dear. I just wish I could eat without vomiting soon after. I feel faint constantly. I won’t visit the Healers, though, I’m sure it will pass. Nerves or something else-_

**_He’s mine._ **

The handwriting changed at that moment, childish scrawl turning into delicate script. Plo’s expression, limited by his mask and eye covers, still showed clear puzzlement as Quinlan read the words, as well.

“What happened? Obi-Wan’s handwriting isn’t neat and bold like that.” He pointed out. “He’s got bantha scratch for penmanship."

“I am not sure…I can only assume whatever the energy is, it took over his mind at that point, albeit briefly.” Plo mused, reading on.

_Anakin asked after my health today. Well, indirectly so. He cares so much for me and I don’t deserve it. I couldn’t tell him about the voices I heard or the planetarium. He’s too young and he wouldn’t understand. If he did, he would tell someone about it. I can’t have him doing that._

_I feel like my mind is starting to break slightly. I couldn’t recognize a master and his Padawan last night coming back from the Archives. They were just…horrifying. I cannot tell anyone that my memory is starting to fail. Have I truly become so weak from only a few days’ worth of hunger? Surely, I’ve dealt with more than this._

**_I will endure death for you if you wish it, Master._ **

_My search for information continues to be difficult and wrought with barriers left and right. It seems as if the Order wishes to restrict our access to knowledge. Was that merely to block those wishing to turn or was it blatant censure of content the Council disagrees with? I don’t know. The Archivists found my tampering, though it wasn’t linked back to me. I’ve written down all I could find and all I could remember. I don’t know that I can keep studying but rescues were never done behind the screen of a datapadd or the pages of a book. I have to leave soon. The pain is getting worse as the Jedi are becoming less and less trustworthy. The new monsters are friends with the Jedi around me, they even know my name! How do they know it? I’ve never met them in my life! I have to leave before these traitors and monsters take over and restrict my access to things further._

**_I will kill them, kill them all! The Jedi are weak and will kneel at my feet…_ **

One of the very last pages made Plo nearly shut the book. The energy had taken over so many times that it felt as if it emanated from the pages themselves. Obi-Wan couldn’t even pause before the energy manifested in him, both types of handwriting intermixed.

_Master,_

_I cannot live this way much longer, surrounded by those who would wish to see me gone from this wretched place. I see now why you were so tenuously a Jedi yourself- **The Jedi are weak and I will abandon them** -The Council believes that I have killed the master of the two Sith and that the Apprentice is no longer powerful- **Sith are so much more powerful than they think-** They say he should not be considered a threat. I feel the stirrings, however. The lies and corruption run deep, deeper than they know, and yet I cannot place where the source lies. It is frustrating, master! _

_That is why I must find you or join you in our places among the Force- **I will die for you, Master, if I cannot leave here** -I have no other options. I have found that corruption, that threat to the Jedi world that the Council wishes to hide, and now it lives right within the Temple itself! They will not listen, as you know, and stubbornly refuse to see what was happening under their noses- **Monsters, demons, vile and horrible scum!-** Everyone around me is a horrific monster or simply a blank face. I fear the monsters have taken over- **I am surrounded, Master, help me!** -I am afraid, Master, that my mind’s intact status is in jeopardy. The Mind Healers the regular Healers threatened me with can do so much more than mutual meditation, I have read tomes on their practices…they can do what the Syndicat could not to me. In times of madness, they can wipe parts or entire swathes of memories! I need help, I need it so badly, I’m afraid I might die like this- **I will not as long as I can join you** -I can’t eat or sleep…I’ve become frail, I know it, yet all the Jedi look at me as if I am a scourge to be avoided. I’ve gone too far, Master, and I don’t know how to come back anymore- **I do not need to be brought to the Light-** _

_I am alone with no one to help me. No one to hold me like you did when I cried as a teen. No one to help me vent my frustration. No one to- **You know what I want you to do to me, Master, if only you had acknowledged me-**_

_Never mind._

_Good night._

Quinlan rubbed his eyes and Plo could see how watery they were with tears and exhaustion from a long night. He rested a gentle hand on one of Quinlan’s.

“You do not have to view this, Knight Vos.”

“It’s Quinlan, Master Koon.” Quinlan tried to laugh a little, wiping his eyes with his free hand. “And…no, I want to stay. I want to help get my friend back.”

Plo cursed in Dorin quietly with one harsh syllable difficult to replicate with human anatomy as his head started to ache dully, the energy becoming quite pervasive as he turned the pages away.

“I’ve met many Kel-Dor traders of lesser repute, Master.” Quinlan tapped his nose. “But I don’t think I’ve heard one with that kind of mouth on them.”

“My apologies, Quinlan.” Plo replied as his head went back to normal. “If possible, I will appeal to the Council to let us perform a rescue mission, but there is no promise that we can bring Obi-Wan back. I will have to travel to Dorin first to confirm my theory.”

“So you think he’s alive?” Quinlan perked up in his seat.

“I know it. It is a faint feeling, but our telepathic bond is still intact.”

Quinlan sighed and rubbed his face. “Force…that’s a relief to hear, y’know that?”

They nodded in solidarity, acknowledging the difficulty of the situation. Neither wanted to turn the page, not when it was obvious the content would be hard on both of them, but Plo knew they couldn’t leave this one alone.

Holding the page gingerly between talons, Plo could feel the energy emanating from it again. He was careful as he turned the page, bloodstains blossoming into view. The first part of the entry clearly had been written before the rest, as the handwriting was Obi-Wan’s traditional scrawl versus the neat and bold lines on the page afterward. Plo struggled to continue with the most recent addition, the energy twisting its way up from the page in a pervasive way. There was a pregnant pause as Plo stopped reading. Quinlan looked over, searching his face for distress.

“…are you okay, Master Koon?” Quinlan asked after a moment.

Plo nodded mutely, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Let us finish this.”

Neither of them really wanted to read the last part of the entry but the words left deeper rivets in their spirits than they’d thought.

**_I immolate myself in blinding, burning agony but it is the sacrifice I give for your existence. You raise me from my ashes and guide me well well. I want to unleash my wrath upon the Jedi for hurting you, for taking you away from me. I want to see this temple go up in flames just as you did…just as I have been for you, too. I am like the proverbial phoenix, I must take flight from the ashes of my previous life and heal what’s been hurt._ **

**_You forgive me for my failure on Naboo, for letting you die. I won’t let you disappear again, I promise. I love you so much, Qui-Gon. I only wish you would accept my feelings for you._ **

_I don’t remember writing any of these other things. I don’t know what’s happening. Please forgive me, Master, it’s as if I lose my memory, lose my awareness. Long swathes of time have been lost to me, greater and greater in span as time goes on. I can’t help myself anymore…I feel like I’m becoming one of the monsters here as well. I can’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore. I must leave before it’s too late._

_I visit Master Koon today to appeal for approval to leave for Dathomir. I still recognize him. I feel like he might help me. He’s the only one who can. Surrounded by monstrous faces, his is the most comforting. In this dizzying mire of fleeting lucidity as an anathema, I need all of the familiarity I can find. In your absence, Master, Master Plo was always a source of that in the past. Forgive me if I turn to him now, as well. I view Master Plo as something different, something more. It is his paternal nature, I think, that makes me go to him rather than anyone else. If he helps me regain the ability to talk to you, it will have been worth the sacrifices he would be making to me. It would mean more than anything._

_He won’t let me down, I’m sure of it._

**_It is as I will it to be. I will make sure I leave, regardless of that pissant’s aid. I have no need of him anymore. I need no one but you, Master._ **

**_You will be mine, my one, and your spirit is more powerful than you know._ **

The silence grew heavy between the two of them, the dark energy seeming to fill the room and then vanish all at once as the cover slammed down with a loud thud. Plo tucked the journal into his robes, refusing to think about what he just read. His theory was becoming more and more plausible. Without hesitation, Plo rose from his seat and went to sit down on his meditation mat, pulling out the candles he kept for the occasion.

“Hey, hey, hey, at least tell me what you think this is.” Quinlan followed, sitting on the second mat in the space. “I need to know what to think about before I meditate, y’know.”

“It is not immediately obvious from the journal and Obi-Wan’s memories, but I believe a very dangerous person has escaped from her bonds.”

“Like who?” Quinlan scoffed. “None are strong enough for that kind of magic. I don’t know of any Sith or criminal that could do anything like this.”

“She is no Sith and she is no common criminal.” Plo gazed at the ceiling, trying to center himself. “She is so much more.”

“Then what or who _is_ she, then?” Quinlan was becoming exasperated with the cryptic rhetoric.

Plo paused his centering to fix his gaze on Quinlan’s. Quinlan didn’t understand how Obi-Wan didn’t find him the tiniest bit intimidating. There was something ancient about him. Though Plo wasn’t as old as Yoda, his life had been long. No one knew a Kel-Dor’s exact age and the Kel-Dor Jedi in the Temple were no exception. Now, Quinlan felt that age a lot more with the aura that Plo gave off. He felt he was stepping into something that was older than time. Plo, on his part, merely sat and seemed to be forming his thoughts. Several minutes went by with Quinlan fidgeting on his mat before Plo’s deep voice began again.

“Do you have any knowledge of the Kessel Run, Quinlan?”

“Oh, sure!” Quinlan beamed. “Once made the Run in fifteen parsecs. It’s the record so far.”

Plo regarded him before sighing. “Then use your meditation to focus. We will have to traverse it quickly.”

“That I can do, Master.” Quinlan sighed as he shifted into a meditative state.

Plo felt the naïve calm from Quinlan and he, too, sank into a quiet calm before the inevitable storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, I kinda said I promised things would make sense in the last chapter and....they probably still don't. Wow, sorry about that. :c Stuff is gonna ramp up next chapter, though, I promise you that! The folks are actually gonna learn what's going on!
> 
> Edit: Oh my god, I totally accidentally overlooked a major error! I didn't actually know everyone on the Council at the time of TPM and a lot of names I used were wrong. Kit wasn't on the Council until ROTS and TCW and Luminara was never on the Council at all. Oops! Luckily most of the major arguers are the five that stayed throughout the prequels, so there's that!


	5. What Could Contain Thy Fearful Symmetry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as the Council figures out what's going on, Obi-Wan's figuring out that he can fear a lot more than the Jedi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, so for once, I actually liked this chapter by the end of it! I tried(and failed) at doing QuiObi week mostly because I kept wanting to go back to working on this. This is possibly my favorite chapter just because it finally does answer the question of what the fuck is going on with Obi-Wan, but things are starting to really ramp up!
> 
> Now this time around, the tags HAVE been changed quite a bit! Please check them out to make sure you want to or can continue reading this, since I don't want to upset anyone.

“Master!” Obi-Wan cried with joy, flashing a beaming smile. “Oh, Master, I’ve missed you!”

A familiar chuckle accompanied a warm hand on his head as he all but flung himself into Qui-Gon’s arms.

“I’ve missed you too, dear one.” Qui-Gon replied kindly, hugging him tight to his chest. “I’ve missed you so much.”

They stayed like that for a time, though Obi-Wan couldn’t fathom how long. He didn’t care. Qui-Gon allowed him all the time he needed, smiling and shushing him when he did start to cry tears of relief. Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon, confused but utterly trusting that his master could answer any of his questions.

“I know you have many questions, my Padawan…come.”

Qui-Gon lead him to a walkway that wound up a cliff face. There was a cave entrance to the left and Obi-Wan felt curiosity rise in him as Qui-Gon led him up and away with a firm hand on his back.

“Nothing in there is of use to you, my Padawan.”

“What’s in there?” Obi-Wan asked, almost like a child in his curiosity.

“What do you think resides in caves?” Qui-Gon laughed. “Rocks and maybe some plants, I haven’t really explored it. I prefer staying where there’s sun.”

Vines hung over the passage they followed and the plants they encountered seemed to move out of their way as they passed through. Obi-Wan swore he had never seen anything like this anywhere in the galaxy.

“…Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan followed close behind and instinctively flinched away when one of the vines reached and curled around his arm.

“Do not worry. I’ve found the flora here to be quite unusual.” Qui-Gon continued onward with no hesitation. “It does what I will it to do.”

“You can control the plants?” Obi-Wan spouted out in amazement.

“It would seem so, yes.” Qui-Gon turned to smile back at him. “Does that really surprise you, though?”

Obi-Wan was, indeed, surprised. He’d only ever seen Qui-Gon be able to manipulate through telekinesis and that was only for plants with prehensile tendencies or forms of movement, like the pitcher plants he’d kept. Here, however, he could seemingly physically alter the plants as they were. He watched in wonder as Qui-Gon made flowers bloom for him as the path led inward, away from the cliff face, and toward a small thicket of trees. They walked along for a while, Obi-Wan in almost childlike wonder as the path widened out to a clearing. A small house nestled in the middle, a garden and shed accompanying it. The garden held a ton of smaller flowers that seemed to bloom into rainbow waves. Obi-Wan had seen many lush planets but this, this one was the most picturesque he’d seen.

“This, Obi-Wan, is where I live.”

“And where is here, exactly?” Obi-Wan fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. “I can’t tell where we are at all.”

“It’s home, Obi-Wan. You’re home.”

\-----

Time passed in the space Obi-Wan now inhabited, but it wasn’t anything like Galactic Standard. There were no chronometers in the house and the sun never went down, bathing the planet in eternal daytime. Sunshine poured in from the windows, giving the house a very homey feeling that Obi-Wan enjoyed but felt unnerved by. Obi-Wan suspected Qui-Gon manifested his space as such for the plants that existed under his control, but it meant time was impossible to tell. The weather could be very harsh, often startling him with debris hitting the windows or a sharp crack of thunder waking him out of his meditation. For such a lush planet, the weather was that of Dorin or Kamino. He never knew when the weather would turn and after a particularly hard hit to the head from a chunk of hail, Qui-Gon all but forced Obi-Wan to stay inside. Not that he complained much about the choice, as the numb feeling from when he first arrived swiftly left him, replaced with the pain from how much he had abused and neglected his body before. His stomach hurt to the point of periodic bouts of being stuck to laying on the couch all day as where he felt like he was being eaten from the inside out. When he could walk, his aching limbs could hardly hold him upright for long from the atrophy due to malnutrition.

There was little for him to do in the house as he found himself trying to meditate or simply staring at the ceiling for the most part. Plants were Qui-Gon’s specialty, he himself could never raise a simple flower. Qui-Gon was often gone, hypocritically, wanting to check on his various areas of plants. This was the manifestation of someone with the Living Force, which left Obi-Wan restless. He took to pacing in the sparse living room, itching to feel something other that boredom and the sense of melancholy dread that never left him even after escaping the Halls. All the while, he felt as if something were watching him, observing his restlessness like a rodent in a cage. Every time his eyelids shut for more than a moment, he felt them be wrenched open almost uncomfortably.

One of his favorite things to do was to study the pictures on the walls and fireplace mantle. The flimsis were monochrome, but the face of a cherub faced boy smiled back at him in one of the photos. A girl in the background looked about the same age, a sour expression on her equally cherubic face. They seemed to be playing a game of catch with the Force, a ball between the two of them in the air. Obi-Wan could have sworn the boy looked almost identical to Anakin, but the figure in the background, graying and old, seemed utterly foreign to him. Obi-Wan rose from the couch and hobbled his way over to it, picking up the old wood and searching for any other recognition from the photo.

“Those are not yours to touch.”

The frame slipped out of Obi-Wan’s hands as he jumped, Qui-Gon’s voice rising out of nowhere. Luckily, the frame stopped in mid-air, Qui-Gon catching the frame with the Force, floating it back to its resting place on the mantle.

“My apologies, Master.” Obi-Wan looked down at the old wooden floor, recalcitrant. “I was merely curious…did you know these people in the photos?”

“No.” Qui-Gon looked around with an emotion Obi-Wan couldn’t place. “You were meant to.”

“What?”

Qui-Gon turned around to gesture at the mantle. “Sometimes this place offers visons. I saw them, the children and their mother…I decided to make those visions into visual reminders that the Light is still strong, even among all the terrible things in the galaxy.”

Qui-Gon ushered him away without much time to process the information, though. “You shouldn’t be standing. I know how much pain you’re in, Obi-Wan.”

“I don’t have much else to do, Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon to the couch where he laid down once more, sighing. “You’ve kept me cooped up here.”

“You’re still so weak. You haven’t tried to heal yourself yet, have you?”

“No, but-“

“Hush.” Obi-Wan went silent as Qui-Gon gave him an odd look. “Go lay down on the couch, I’ll return when I’m done with the plants.”

“Can’t you stay for a little while?” Obi-Wan obeyed and laid back down on the couch, which was admittedly a relief. “I never see you here. It’s as if I inhabit this house alone…”

“I have my place and you have yours.” Qui-Gon found a soft throw blanket and tucked him in. “Mine is the outdoors. Surely you understand that. And yours is here, to rest and recuperate.”

Qui-Gon was just as he had always been, aloof and detached. It was frustrating, but he couldn’t do anything about it. The couch was heavenly as soon as his body met the cushions. Obi-Wan let his eyelids droop as soon as his head hit the armrest but he wouldn’t close them. He hadn’t slept properly in what felt like ages but some relaxed meditation couldn’t hurt. As he was drifting off into a mindset of focus and calm, he felt as Qui-Gon gave him a peck on the forehead. Obi-Wan smiled tiredly in response.

He felt safe here, after so much fear.

\-----

Plo stood among the Council members once again, though now in the center of the room, as Quinlan had taken his seat.

“I believe I know what has happened to Obi-Wan, fellow Council members.”

At the expectant silence he was greeted with, Plo continued.

“The Baran-Do Sages confirmed my theory when I contacted them overnight. They insist we must work with the utmost haste if we are to bring Obi-Wan home.” Plo nodded to Quinlan. “And Knight Vos helped by solidifying my theory as well with his psychometry.”

“What is this confirmed theory, Master Koon?” Mace watched him closely. “You haven’t mentioned anything about this to us yet.”

“To avoid undue confusion and chaos, which is the last thing we need at the moment, I had to keep this information from you all until I was sure this could be a viable cause.”

Plo brought out a mobile holo-emitter out of his robes. Holding it out, the image flickered to life as three figures appeared in blue. A young woman, a young man, and an older man that stood behind them. All three were dressed elegantly, if archaically.

“These are the Ones.” He explained. “The legends say they created the galaxy in which we live.”

“We know this, Master Koon.” Ki-Adi rested his curled hand on his cheek, reclining against his armrest. “What do these legends have to do with Obi-Wan’s unusual departure?”

“Technically, they have nothing to do with his departure. In fact, if the legends are to be believed, they may assist in his rescue.”

“How? Who is doing this, then?”

Plo switched the holo-emitter’s image with a couple button presses. It changed to the form of a dark, twisted creature in flight. The wings seemed broken and the body was covered in a mixture of scales and feathers to create an unsettling visage. It then shifted into a young woman, light-haired and pale, before shifting into a mass of writhing tentacles, and then a gnarled tree, and then a simple womp rat. It shifted to the form of a Kel-Dor, then a Rodian, then a human, and then a Wookiee. The shape never stayed the same even while Plo gestured around the room, holding out the emitter.

“This, Council members, is Abeloth. She is to blame for Obi-Wan’s disappearance.”

The silence of the room broke as mutters scuttled around the room.

“Who?” Yarael asked, confused.

“She is referred to as The Mother, though her intended role was servant and caretaker for the Ones after she had found her way to the planet.” Plo started to walk around the room as he told the story. “She developed a bond with the Daughter and the Son, which led to them seeing her as a motherly figure in their lives. They were happy together, at least until Abeloth began to change.”

\-----

The bed Obi-Wan came back to awareness in was spacious and plush, yet something didn’t settle well with him even while wrapped in downy blankets. Qui-Gon slept next to him, deeply and restfully, despite the constant sunlight. Obi-Wan writhed with the closeness, trying not to imagine the feeling of that strong body over his and encircling him in warmth or those arms holding him tightly. It all felt wrong now, like a book just one or two places out of order on a shelf. Even the quiet breathing next to his ear didn’t feel right. The rhythm didn’t feel quite natural, which left him unsettled. He tried to escape but Qui-Gon’s arms locked around him, keeping him pinned to the spot with a small snuffle. Obi-Wan carefully extracted himself once he was sure Qui-Gon slept soundly and made his way downstairs.

_He hasn’t spent time with me here until now…_

Though he wasn’t complaining, Obi-Wan felt this change of heart was out of character for his master. Normally somewhat aloof, Qui-Gon acted much like a loth cat. He came and went as he pleased, emotionally, seeking his company or leaving him alone. Now that behavior had become polarized to the point that he had been left alone for a week or two before Qui-Gon showed up this time. He seemed unwilling to let him go and do anything outside. Perhaps it was a change of heart due to his death, not wanting to let go of what he’d had but also needing his space. It was somewhat unnerving to him all the same to be given such highly fluctuating attention. It left him feeling abandoned, only wanted when he was of some unknown use.

Obi-Wan tried not to think about how that made his journey here moot.

Stopping in the kitchen, Obi-Wan prepared the kettle for a cup of tea. He set the archaic kettle on the stove to boil once filled with water, deciding to meditate in the living room afterward. He looked out of the small window next to the kitchen counter, noticing little change in the scenery from the day or days before. The storms and the hail that had left a sizeable lump on his head seemed to be an illusion for all the daylight that shone on the planet. Glancing in the mirror that hung on the living room wall as he waited, Obi-Wan yelped as he stared into the eyes of a monstrous bird-like creature. He didn’t know what it was but it sent waves of terror through him. Backing towards the other end of the room, he felt his heart throb dangerously and loudly in his chest. A high-pitched shriek pierced the silence, making Obi-Wan yelp again before realizing it was the kettle on the stove.

When he looked back at the mirror, his own fear-stricken face glanced back at him.

Obi-Wan ran back to the kitchen and tried to busy himself with the kettle, idly looking out of the kitchen window at the same swathe of trees and flowers. Not one animal had passed by, something he noted early on in his stay here.

 _Does it matter?_ Obi-Wan thought ruefully as he poured his tea.

Life was so stagnant here on this planet Qui-Gon now called home. It drove Obi-Wan mad, yet at heart he couldn’t leave his master if he tried. He had left everything else behind even if he didn’t seem to be stranded. This stagnant lifestyle was all he had and all that he would have for the rest of his existence. He would take whatever small morsels of affection and attention Qui-Gon would give him easier than he would like to admit.

He made a makeshift steeper out of some unusable mesh he found lying around, stirring the ball with his tea leaves in it into the cup of water. His ritual was less refined and meditative here, but Obi-Wan figured that the tea tasted the same either way and wouldn’t even stay in him long due to the stomach cramps. So little changed here, it wouldn’t make much difference. This would be his routine now.

“Why are you not in bed?”

Obi-Wan startled at Qui-Gon’s silent approach. Since when was the tall, somewhat heavy-footed Jedi able to be completely silent in his approach?

“I have been in bed…for days, Master, upstairs or on the couch.” Obi-Wan didn’t lift his eyes from his teacup. “I think it’s been days. I…”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Qui-Gon sat at the opposite side of the small table.

“I…I don’t know what day it is anymore.”

“Is that all you’re worried about? Qui-Gon frowned. “How much time you’ve spent here?”

Obi-Wan felt anxiety crawling up his back. “Yes! I-I…”

“Say it.” Qui-Gon prompted. “I want to know why you’re upset.”

“I want to go home.” Obi-Wan stared into his teacup.”

“Why Obi-Wan, you are home.” Qui-Gon gestured all around them. “Where else would you rather be?”

Qui-Gon stood and approached behind him, petting his hair.

“I have a lot of thoughts about the Temple, about Anakin.” Obi-Wan picked up his teacup. “I want them back.”

“Why? They are no longer a part of your life. They don’t want you even if you did come back. Do not linger on them.” Qui-Gon shrugged. “You have me now. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan. “But sitting here being domestic…it’s not right. Anakin was my Padawan, my responsibility…”

“And yet you shirked that responsibility to find me.” Qui-Gon frowned. “So there’s no point in worrying, is there?”

“But…you found him, Qui-Gon! You brought him to the Temple!” Obi-Wan set his tea down without having taken a sip, looking at him with desperation. “How can you care so little now for his wellbeing?”

“He’s no longer a part of my life, Obi-Wan, so I do not spare too much emotion for him. I live in the now, remember? He will do as all Jedi do, learn the ways of the Force and protect the galaxy from threats big and small. He will do this without our help. Does that make you happy?”

There was a hint of derision in Qui-Gon’s tone and Obi-Wan understood why it was there, yet something about it felt uncomfortable. He ducked his head and tried to ignore how his stomach hurt.

“Yes, Master.”

There’s tense silence between them for several minutes. Obi-Wan didn’t want to break it. Obi-Wan’s lips were tightly sealed, only breaking when his heart slowed, having felt as if he had run a race. His heart hadn’t fared well the past few days, he thought, and to have it be rent one way and another, Obi-Wan feared it would break altogether soon. His gaunt face looked away, unable to look this man in the eye. There was something _wrong_ in his gaze, blue eyes sparking with mischief and affection that felt artificial.

“You cared about every living thing once, not just those you could control. What happened?”

Qui-Gon’s twisted smile made Obi-Wan’s heart throb painfully in warning as he approached too close, Qui-Gon’s face mere inches from his own.

“I changed for the better after Naboo, Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon kissed him on the mouth, a passionate, powerful thing that left Obi-Wan dizzy when they broke apart.

“I want you.” Qui-Gon’s voice was rough with desire, a low rumble Obi-Wan had imagined so long ago in his bed during lonely nights. “Upstairs. Now.”

Fear of disobeying drove Obi-Wan up the steps rather than lust for his Master now, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted this just as much as Qui-Gon did.

He would learn that his Master was not the gentle, kind lover he imagined on those nights, his hand his only company as his imagination got the best of him. Qui-Gon took and took and took without care for his input or interest, as if he were inconsequential. He tried to give Qui-Gon what he desired, and the other hadn’t even noticed as he groaned and growled behind him. He whined when Qui-Gon took a hold of his Padawan braid, twisted it tightly around his hand, and he shrieked when Qui-Gon ripped it right off.

“You are no longer a Jedi, no longer my student.” Qui-Gon hissed into his ear. “You don’t need this.”

He was no longer a person, but an object. A plaything for Qui-Gon’s amusement. The notion hurt more than the sex and by that point, he couldn’t help himself. He loved it, didn’t care how it hurt. His scream as Qui-Gon finished wasn’t faked, nor was the tearful orgasm that ripped through him and rent him into pieces moments later, leaving him in a daze.

He loved Qui-Gon and everything he gave to him, even if it was like _this._

In the end, he ached and hurt in all the worst ways, laying on his stomach gingerly while Qui-Gon used the restroom. He’d wanted it all, even if he hated himself for it, for it was the only kind of Qui-Gon he could have. He hurt throughout every minute of their fucking and yet he’d wanted it, just to know how it felt, how to feel something other than sheer numbness at the world around him, the world by Qui-Gon’s seeming design. He’d become used to pain, welcomed it in fact. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks as he heard Qui-Gon redress and leave the room, eyes falling to the discarded braid among the blankets. Obi-Wan picked up the braid with a shaking hand. Equally shaky fingers tucked it into his pocket, not wanting to lose that last part of him that reminded him of Qui-Gon’s kindness.

He got to shaky feet, stumbling over to the curtain-covered window, and gripped the fabric tightly. He wanted to throw the curtains wide open and let the sun shine in, cleansing the room of what just happened. He kept his hands there for what felt like hours, never moving. He also didn’t want the sun anymore. The dark curtains were a respite from the false life and light of the world outside, keeping reality in bleak, delusional contrast. Obi-Wan gave up trying to open the curtains and dressed gingerly in what clothes he had, the medical tunics from the Temple, and simply sat in the bathtub with no desire to turn on the light.

He’d fallen so far and yet he didn’t care at all anymore.

\-----

“This jealousy and greed consumed Abeloth at the expense of everyone around her. The Ones became distant, watching her fall with equanimity born from the superiority of their status. So fearful of aging was Abeloth that she was willing to try anything to stave it off indefinitely. Her desires changed swiftly, no longer encompassing just immortality but also power. Sheer power, she wanted, over anything and everything she could get her hands on. She learned while mortal that a poisonous person’s touch or presence will wear the other down, but it was not enough. She wanted to own, to dominate, to play with those she deemed lesser, which fast became every mortal in the galaxy but particularly those that could wield the Force in ways she could not. She envied their power over anything else.”

“Then how did she become the…thing she is now?” Even scowled. “Without the Force, she shouldn’t have had any power.”

“She drank deeply from the Font of Power, hidden deep within their planet, and gained Force sensitivity as well as immortality. There with the Font was the Pool of Knowledge, which Abeloth decided to bathe in to gain the power of foresight worthy of celestial importance. Upon discovering her whereabouts, The Father was furious and tried to confront her as she exited the Pool. He had promised her a safe way into immortality if only she waited patiently. Abeloth had disregarded his promises and lost the title of The Mother as a result. She was all but cast out of the family but before they could banish her, she began to shift for the first time. Both waters, imbued with the Dark and Light sides of the Force, were too much for her body, mind, and spirit as the chaotic mixture proved too powerful for the galaxy to contain, breaking the balance of the Force that the Ones had so carefully maintained. To protect themselves and the new galaxy as a whole, the Ones imprisoned Abeloth with constructions known as Sinkhole Station and Centerpoint Station.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very…celestial thing to do.” Mace’s skeptical expression worsened.

“The Ones did not create the stations themselves.” Plo switched the emitter to show an insectoid species, standing tall. “They created the space known as the Maw, inside which Abeloth is imprisoned. However, they gave the power of the Force to ancient beings called the Killik, who documented the entire history. That is how we know of this legend at all.”

“And…you think she’s escaped these stations.” Ki-Adi rested his hands in his lap.

“Precisely.” Plo replied. “She escapes when the balance of the Force shifts significantly enough. I believe that the source of that shift was-“

“Naboo…and Tattooine.” Yoda finished his statement.

Plo nodded. “Yes. The Sith’s return as well as young Skywalker’s discovery. The first Jedi killed by a Sith in thousands of years. Such a perfect upheaval in the Force will have been enough for her to escape her bonds. This has been documented in obscure texts over the millions of years that have occurred. Her appearance is not a common occurrence by any means, but once Abeloth is found to have escaped, she is entirely impossible to contain unless the Ones intervene. Seemingly, they always have.”

Plo stood in the middle of the Council chamber as everyone else sat and mulled over his story. So far, he wasn’t sure that he was winning their support for his request to follow Obi-Wan, even if it was just to assure his safety. He never had been a wonderful negotiator, unlike Obi-Wan. His propensity toward listening rather than contributing wasn’t entirely without reason.

“Legends, Master Koon, are what you’re basing your entire argument upon?” Saesee asked with a hint of skepticism. “You believe these to be true?

“I do not know if they are true or false, nor do I believe they have validity in the strictest sense. They are, however, all I have short of other medical or psychological reasons for Obi-Wan’s behavior, all of which have been ruled out. At the very least, it is a different perspective on an already very unusual situation.” Plo nodded. “I understand my claims are rather…fantastical. They are not exactly what one would expect of a Jedi Council member to even humor. I will understand if your decision is to reject my request, however, I implore that you consider the repercussions. Obi-Wan may be lost to us forever otherwise.”

The silence in the room grew pregnant with anticipation. Mace and Yoda gave each other a look.

“In all honesty, Master Koon,” Mace fixed his hard gaze on Plo, staring him down, “The level of dedication you’re giving to Obi-Wan’s well-being borders on personal attachment. Plus, this obscurity you’re purporting to be true borders on lunacy.”

“Attachment, it is not.” Yoda admitted with a shake of his head. “Compassion, Mace, the difference here is.”

“I can feel Obi-Wan’s life wavering, Masters, are we really going to argue this?” Plo protested hotly.

“You can sense Obi-Wan?” Mace rested his elbows upon his knees and folded his hands together, resting his chin on them. “Such a distance should render most telepathic connections moot.”

“It is a weak connection, yes, but I know for certain that Obi-Wan is still alive. It is as if something is allowing me access rather than a natural sense. A break in the Darkness surrounding Obi-Wan’s mind, in fact. A slight glimpse, if you will.”

“Anything else?” Ki-Adi prompted. “Is he injured, is he thinking normally again?”

“I do not know his status. I do not know if he was injured during his escape or what his mental state will be if I find him. I know you are skeptical, all of you, but you must trust me when I say that I know what threatens Obi-Wan’s life. I would not bring these legends to you if I did not think there were merit for them.”

“True, the Kel-Dor are not a species to engage in frivolity.” Adi chimed in quietly, smiling at Plo sympathetically.

“Even if we have determined he didn’t act of his own accord, however, why should we bring him back if he may now be a threat to us?” Saesee grumbled.

“Why? Because we are Jedi!” Plo looked pointedly in his direction. “He was extremely fragile when I last spoke with him. He was malnourished and believed we were harming him. Abeloth will be using his physical and mental weakness to make him easier to harvest, but we have to show him he is wanted and cared for upon his return. He is a being deserving of being brought home, just like any of us. We will need our compassion for him to be intact if we are to bring him home to the Temple to rehabilitate.”

“What do you mean, ‘harvest?’” Ki-Adi tilted his ovoid head in confusion.

“As I said, Jedi taken crave attachment to Abeloth. Though her methods are unknown, it can be assumed that she shifts her form to become appealing by mimicking something they desire…”

“Or someone.” Saesee added morosely.

The room seemed to grow stuffy as the uncomfortable realization set in. None needed to say who Abeloth may have mimicked to draw Obi-Wan away.

“Taken over, their bond has been, or what is left of it.” Yoda hummed. “Being toyed with through it, Kenobi is, for Abeloth’s amusement.”

No one in the room wanted to hear that, everyone wincing at least a bit.

“She’s been using Obi-Wan’s grief to give him false hope, and he wouldn’t have questioned it. He wouldn’t know the difference between her Force signature and Qui-Gon’s if she’s using his spirit to manifest.” Eeth rubbed his forehead.

“Obi-Wan wasn’t wrong…he truly thought Qui-Gon was alive because it seemed like he _was_.” Yarael pointed out. “He had no idea…”

“If this is true, who knows what could happen?” Mace interrupted the discussion. “Aren’t there other demigods, Plo? Can they not bring Obi-Wan back?”

“The Ones and Abeloth are out of our control, Mace. Surely someone so skeptical would realize that.” Plo wrung his hands. “We will need to break Abeloth’s connection to Obi-Wan for him to not be a threat any longer. Past that, we have no control over what the celestial beings of this galaxy decide to do.”

“Yes, but if we’re dealing with a legend, I should think the legends associated with it should come into play…” Mace groused.

“Abeloth might prevent us from approaching, but it is not impossible for me and possibly another to make a rescue attempt.” Plo shifted the subject away for the moment. “It may prove impossible to bring Obi-Wan back. If there is still a chance, however, I want to pursue it.”

“Say you, Knight Vos?” Yoda eyed the younger Jedi warily and knowingly. “Your consent to go on this mission, we need.”

“I’m alright going along with Master Plo.” Quinlan nodded his assent. “I want to help Obi-Wan, too. He likes me, from what Plo says about him. We have a real connection, y’know?”

Quinlan’s grin and waggle of eyebrows caused a chain of eyes rolled around the room. Plo himself couldn’t stop himself, even. The young Knight’s humor was rather crass and unbecoming of a Jedi.

“A suicide mission, this is.” Yoda shut his eyes in what everyone could tell was mounting exasperation. “Realize this, you do?”

“Of course. Not like you haven’t sent me on those before.” Quinlan shrugged and reclined in Plo’s chair lazily, using the Force to levitate his dreadlocks idly. “This one just involves demigods and possession instead of bounty hunters and narcotics dens. Piece of cake.”

Plo turned back to Mace and Yoda before Quinlan could ramble on about anything else.

“I request that Knight Vos and I take a ship to attempt to find Obi-Wan Kenobi, as he is in great danger to himself and from another. I trust Knight Vos to both be a comfort to Obi-Wan as well as someone to keep my own emotions in check.” Plo sighed as he heard a snort of derision behind him at the comment. “I will need a ship that is more durable than fast. I fear she will try to impede our approach if we manage to find them, so speed is not going to be our enemy. She will be able to catch us no matter how fast we are but if we can withstand her obstacles, gaining access to Homeworld might be possible.”

“Homeworld?” Adi asked.

“Abeloth’s planet. It was the planet the Ones lived on before they fled to a place only known as Mortis.” Plo pulled up an image of the diamond-shaped structure. “Of that place there is even less information, but I can assume that Homeworld has similar properties regarding the nature of it. Time or space may be altered, physics may be nonexistent or inconsistent, the environment is controlled by whoever controls the planet…for all we know, a Galactic Standard week might feel like a year on that planet due to the nature of immortal lifespans and the environment could reflect Abeloth’s desires rather than a traditional seasonal pattern. In all likelihood, given my understanding of her power, she likely embodies the planet herself.”

“I still don’t entirely believe in your theory, Plo.” Mace sighed, rubbing his face. “But your determination and research are certainly fitting of you. I feel like you’ll leave whether we want you to or not and I’d rather grant you your request than have more stolen starships from the hangar bay.”

“Then will you grant me my request?”

There was a good few moments of bated silence. Plo had to have confirmation that he was allowed to proceed. The other members of the Council shifted in their seats and murmured to one another before settling. Mace gave him a solemn nod.

“Your request is granted, Master Koon. May the Force be with you and Knight Vos on your mission.”

“Thank you.” Plo bowed low, a sign of respect, and looked to Quinlan, who hopped up and did the same. “May the Force be with all of us, should we fail.”

“You will not.” Yoda nodded before the two left the chamber for the evening.

\-----

The arguments started what felt like months into Obi-Wan’s stay on the planet. It began to feel like proper confinement after a time, which left him stir-crazy and needing more and more attention. Qui-Gon, however, seemed to ignore him more the more he tried to get his attention.

“Qui-Gon, this is insufferable!” Obi-Wan cried one day as Qui-Gon entered the front door. “Just let me go outside, please, I’m suffocating in here…”

“You’re becoming suffocating, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon eyed him carefully. He was pacing around him with the same manner that a saber cat might. It set Obi-Wan on edge as he felt distinctly like captured prey. “I have my place and you have yours, remember?”

“Oh, then mine must be a cage!” Obi-Wan retorted hotly.

“If you want to think it as such, then yes.” Qui-Gon replied dismissively, turning back to the front door.

Something in Obi-Wan snapped watching Qui-Gon turn away from him, a vein pulsing in his throat. He picked up one of the pictures, one of the twin children reading from books and held it in front of the fireplace with a shaking hand.

“What would you do if I did this?!” He yelled. “Would it kill you if I destroyed one of these accursed pictures?!”

The smashing of glass against roaring firewood was satisfying, but the way the picture wouldn’t burn, not until the image shifted into adults, a woman with green hair and a bald man with red eyes, that sent chills down Obi-Wan’s spine. He froze, facing the fireplace as the picture curled and rent into ash, almost afraid of what lay behind him.

He had crossed a line.

He yelped as hands, big and strong, grabbed him by the arms and all but pushed him towards the stairs.

“Those did not and do not belong to you.” Qui-Gon’s voice was low and dangerous. Obi-Wan had only heard it like that a handful of times, when the Dark Side threatened to take over his master. “They were _mine!_ ”

“Qui-Gon, what are you talking about-?”

Qui-Gon towered into Obi-Wan’s personal space as he led Obi-Wan upstairs.

“You were _not_ to touch those photos and you didn’t listen!” Qui-Gon continued heedlessly, steering Obi-Wan toward a bedroom door. “Such insolence from a terrible boy!”

“Qui-Gon, I don’t understand-!” Obi-Wan tried to reason until he was pushed into the bare room onto his backside. “Please, just talk to me-“

“You are a _fool_ to think I would listen to you, Obi-Wan. You see this as your cage, then that’s what I’ll give you.”

Qui-Gon slammed the door and left Obi-Wan sitting on the bare floor, too in shock to cry.

\-----

There was no doubt in him now that there was something wrong. This wasn’t the Qui-Gon he knew but he was too scared to confront that fact, too afraid to lose this person who he could call Qui-Gon again, even at the expense of his own happiness and safety. The room he occupied was small and afforded him even less stimulation than before. He’d lost track of how long he’d been in the room almost immediately, not caring to track the time when he barely could in the living room. He bit on his nails for something to do, a habit he once found off-putting but now helped vent his energy and anxiety. Obi-Wan found that he didn’t much care about anything now that he and Qui-Gon seemed to be the only beings on this planet that weren’t plants, including etiquette. His nails were bloodied nubs before long as Obi-Wan had bitten to the quick while pacing nervously. Qui-Gon didn’t seem to care at all when he did visit, strolling around the small room before turning to Obi-Wan with a smile on his face. That didn’t bode well. He’d tuned out Qui-Gon’s ramblings, trying to control the slight tremor that worked through his body almost constantly now. He’d forgotten what he looked like by now and didn’t care to know.

“The glory, Obi-Wan, of being one with the Force now is that I can decide where I exist and who I have exist with me.” Qui-Gon replied in an almost jovial tone, gesturing wide as he faced Obi-Wan. “I wanted you here with me, and so I brought you here. Isn’t that a wonderful thing?”

Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks. He heard the words wrong, he must have. Qui-Gon was dead? Then why was he right in front of him?

“…my ship was destroyed…”

“Yes.”

The word rang in Obi-Wan’s ears. The air rang with it, in fact, like condemnation at a judicial hearing. Obi-Wan felt his knees, weak with exhaustion and malnutrition to start with, finally give out on him as he collapsed onto the hardwood floor. His heart felt heavy, his soul even heavier as he scrabbled to press two fingers to his throat, then to his wrist.

“I-I can feel my pulse.” Obi-Wan gasped. “M-My legs hurt. My stomach hurts. Why should I be feeling these things? I shouldn’t feel anything!”

“In this state of immortality, the one I taught you, you keep each and every pain and ache you felt in life. That is the sacrifice the Whills were reluctant to tell me about.” Qui-Gon settled next to him. “That’s why I wanted to bring you here. It feels so much better to know that we can both be in a comfortable place if we’re going to suffer for eternity. I can ignore this so much easier when I know you’re with me.”

Obi-Wan tried not to feel sick as Qui-Gon opened his robe and loosened his tunics, only to reveal that the hole the Sith’s saber made in his abdomen was still there. There was no sign of blood or rot, however. It simply existed as if it were a wound that had healed open, organs in a state of immobility rather than moving with the rhythms of a body. His head spun with the realization that he had been dreading to think about.

“At least I don’t need to eat anymore, I suppose.” Qui-Gon chuckled, his expression changing as Obi-Wan grew pale. “Are you alright?”

Obi-Wan nodded dumbly as tears streaked down his cheeks. He tried to remember to breathe as he resolutely shoved Qui-Gon out of the room, not caring if he raised the man’s ire while locking the door behind him. With a keen, he slid down the wall as he bit back a sob. He curled up on the floor with his forehead on his knees. He felt weak as he stared at his thin wrists through watery eyes.

He realized he was fading away slowly in this timeless place and he wouldn’t be missed by anyone on Coruscant. He didn’t know how much time had passed, how long it’d been since he returned from Naboo, nothing. It could have been years and he wouldn’t have known. The worst part was that Qui-Gon didn’t care anymore either. Obi-Wan wondered if he ever did to start with. The loving man Obi-Wan came here for had changed and he wasn’t sure he could love this new Qui-Gon the same way. That realization hurt more than his body did. He had come here for nothing and would die here for nothing.

_This can’t be real._

“Obi-Wan!”

He didn’t answer. Obi-Wan hoped that if he stayed quiet enough, Qui-Gon would vanish.

“You cannot hide from me, my Padawan, you know this, as I am in your mind, remember?” Obi-Wan cried out at a sudden headache, not unlike the ones he felt in the Temple. Qui-Gon’s voice lowered and became gentler, which sent a spike of danger rippling through the Force. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

Obi-Wan curled up in the corner and bit at the stubs of his nails until they bled, flinching when Qui-Gon continued knocking. He wanted to run into the forests around the house but he wasn’t sure where any of them would take him. For all he knew, this house was the only form of refuge on the entire planet and Qui-Gon could come and go and be where he pleased because he owned all of it.

 _This is all a dream,_ he thought, _all a dream, that’s all, just a dream, just a dream…_

\-----

That evening, after the meeting, Plo sat in his quarters in quiet meditation. He already told Quinlan to do the same, as they would both need the focus if they are to find Obi-Wan. The only thing he knew was that Abeloth’s prisons were inside an area known as the Maw. No one who entered that space has ever returned. Plo extended his focus out into the Force itself, sending a plea into it.

_The Son, the Daughter, please help us retrieve our friend and fellow Jedi from the control of the Mother. We intend to follow him to the Maw, though we have not the power nor the influence to subdue her. We simply want to see our friend safe before it is too late._

For Plo, it was an odd practice to appeal to spirits that he’d fallen out of practice with. The Jedi didn’t believe in luck and appealing to unseen, unknown gods that may or may not assist them. Either one was successful or they failed in their tasks and they were completed using the Force or by oneself. The Baran-Do Sages, on the other hand, were open to spiritual practices as the Kel-Dor were highly superstitious both in the past and present. Plo was no stranger to the concept of gods and spirits, having been named one syllable like the rest of his species to appease the weather spirits. The Sages believed that documentation of spiritual and religious matters came before the actual worship of them, unlike the Jedi. Ever the pragmatists, the Kel-Dor always kept an air of common sense to themselves even with their rituals. This, Plo reasoned, was part of that pragmatism. This time, though, he hoped his thoughts would be heard instead of adopting an air of indifference.

His concentration was broken by a chime at his door.

 _Just a moment._ Plo thought to his visitor, as his voice wouldn’t carry far enough without his mask.

He rose from his mat, snuffing out the special candles with his fingers, and replaced the mask and eye covers on his face before controlling the atmosphere with a panel near the door. He switched it from the Dorin standard to a more universal one before opening the door.

“Good evening, Mace.” Plo dropped the formalities, heading for his tea set instead. It was an informal but common tradition the Kel-Dor had. “To what do I owe this personal visit?”

“Aside from Yoda, you’re the oldest on the Council. You surpass even Yaddle by a few years.” Mace noted as he settled himself on the couch in the living space. “You would know the ancient lore of the Jedi better than anyone else save them.”

“Yes?” Plo heated the water in his kitchenette. “You need not apologize to me, I was not offended. It was not entirely my knowledge, but also that of the Baran-Do Sages. My study with them was not a waste.”

“I did not intend to apologize, but I suppose you’re right.” Mace’s mouth set into a grim line. “I feel unsettled by the notion that our fate is in the hands of unseen beings.”

“As do I.” Plo set the tea to steep and brought the pot over to the coffee table. “Superstitious the Kel-Dor may be, we also do keep our wits about us.”

“And yet you have chosen to throw them out the window for a suicide mission.” Mace mused. “I thought you might have shed the familial attachment by now, Plo. You seemed to do well enough with your family here in the Temple.”

“Say what is on your mind, Mace. Do not dodge your true thoughts for the sake of propriety.”

“I wasn’t going to bring it up in the meeting, but you aren’t doing this simply because you care about Obi-Wan and you know it.”

Plo had to grip the edge of the countertop to steady himself as he poured the tea. Of course, the topic of attachment would return. Few knew why he’d come to the Order in adulthood, unlike the rest of his family, and Mace was one of them.

“Mace, if you are implying-“

“I’m not implying, I know how you view Kenobi. You’re compensating now and it’s obvious. You’re trying to save him because you couldn’t-“

“Stop.” Plo sent out the order via both spoken word and thought, ignoring the teapot he was supposed to be minding. “Please.”

_Somewhere in the sands near Shuya-Baran, a lone figure screamed for hours as the artificial sky lights lowered beyond the horizon, uncovering the perfect darkness of the twin black holes that surrounded Dorin in between swathes of stars…_

The thought sprang to his mind, unbidden, for the first time since all of this happened. Plo shook his head, ridding the sound of his own frantic voice from his mind, and gave Mace his tea before pouring his own.

“Plo.” Mace’s voice became slightly less hard-edged for once, trying to sound comforting. “I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” Plo curled his fingers around his cup, savoring the warmth as he dreaded the question.

“Would this mission bring you closure if you succeeded?” Mace asked carefully. “A Jedi must remove all attachments, surely you know that.”

“Of course.” Plo harrumphed and stared into his tea.

“The Council is torn on the decision that was made. As you know, only Yoda and Ki-Adi know what this really is. We know why you’re doing this and that’s why we allowed it. You need this to heal after all these years.”

“I do not know what you mean.” Talon tipped fingers curled tighter around the cup.

“I think you absolutely do, you stubborn old bat.” Mace sighed as he sipped his tea “My previous question still goes unanswered. Would this bring you closure?”

Plo took several minutes before relenting. “Perhaps. Do you deem my decisions to be logically sound?”

“Logic plays no part in your explanation, from the sound of it.” Mace snorted. “Kenobi has to be brought back if there’s a sign, however faint, that he’s alive. Vos’ll go alone if you don’t. You need this to help put your own mind at ease.”

“So you agree that this needs to be done.” Plo stretched his legs and felt stiffness that had settled in like an old acquaintance.

Mace put down his cup and shrugged. “My hands are tied, honestly. We don’t truly know what to make of Kenobi’s situation but we have to do something. Otherwise, the Order will have lost a good soon to be Knight and the rest may lose faith in our decisions. We can’t have more people doubt us, that’s what you said caused Abeloth to claim Obi-Wan.”

“Yes. His doubts and grief following Qui-Gon’s death were what drew Abeloth to him. If others do the same, the Jedi may be faced with an enemy we cannot defeat.”

“Do you have a plan for his rescue?“

“Obi-Wan will be vulnerable. He will need someone familiar to trust, as his trust has been broken manifold by this point, or so it would seem to him. However, he is unlikely to trust us if he is in a state of mind to understand who we are.” Plo replied. “I will also be able to sedate him if necessary, a key skill Quinlan does not have. He may be able to track Obi-Wan down, however.”

“A perfect pair for such a thing. I think…”

Mace frowned in thought as his eyes unfocused, the tell-tale sign of a vision in progress. Plo waited until there was recognition again in those dark eyes, waited for them to raise back up to meet his.

“What is on your mind, Mace?” Plo’s voice quieted. “What did you see?”

There was silence between them for a few minutes. Plo held his tea to calm down, realizing there was tension in muscles that he didn’t know were tense. It was natural to be anxious before such a mission, but Plo was far too old to be letting it get to him this much.

“What were your children like, Plo?” Mace eyed him as he finished his tea.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Plo shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “They were my light. They were young and did not know better. Stubborn as their parents were and independent, yet keenly aware of rules and order. And they were very, very persuasive when they wished to be.”

Mace rose to his feet. “I can understand what Kenobi means to you, then. They aren’t that different.”

“Not really, I suppose…” Plo mused.

“Be careful.” Mace’s eyes hardened as he made to leave. “Don’t allow your attachments to get the better of you, any of them.”

Mace left and an ominous tug at the Force told Plo that they might very well be in far over their heads.

\-----

Obi-Wan woke from a fitful daze in the corner of the bedroom he was holed in as his eyelids were wrenched open by that damned invisible presence for what had to be the hundredth time. His first thought was that something felt off. His second thought was that there was a smell of something patently disgusting wafting around the room. It smelled burnt along with something strangely rotten. If there were anything in his stomach, he’d have lost it. Covering his nose, he got up and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, ignoring the ache.

The soup he found had congealed and stuck to the rim of the pot, burnt and congealed, sealing it to the pot lid and gluing the pot closed. Obi-Wan didn’t even try to look inside it, the idea turning his stomach dangerously, and merely turned the heat off and brought the thing outside to ventilate. The fact that he hadn’t seen Qui-Gon anywhere set alarm klaxons off in his head. Someone had to have started this mess.

“Qui-Gon?” He called, even though he dreaded bringing the man back. “Where are you?”

Obi-Wan was eternally thankful for his ability to hold his breath for so long. The smell had permeated the house in its entirety and Qui-Gon was nowhere to be found. He decided to check the perimeter, freezing when he found a mangled, rotting corpse laying near the edge of the trees. Obi-Wan carefully edged his way closer, covering his mouth as his eyes roved over the figure. Blackened, charred skin only barely hides the bones underneath, tightly coating the skull in grime and rot. There were obvious signs of the body having been butchered, black and greenish sections cut out and hollowed where meat once attached itself to the body. The singed, brown-gray hair that peppered a yellowed, cracked skull sent Obi-Wan’s head spinning with vertigo and his stomach into his throat when he realized who the body belonged to and what the pot contained. He couldn’t stop himself as the feeling of being sick washed over him, doubling over and kneeling in the grass. He hadn’t eaten properly in weeks so his lips dripped nothing more than bitter bile, his stomach flipping and heaving dangerously.

Hot tears rolled down his cheeks and mixed with the mess on his face, though Obi-Wan felt no shame or embarrassment. He felt nothing but despair within him, along with shame and fear that he had fallen for some sort of trick. He screamed until his throat was raw, but once he opened his eyes again, the body in front of him was gone. The world around him tilted unnaturally though that may have simply been his own balance being thrown off as he collapsed into the grass, eyes fixed to the forest and the sky above it. He was sure the world was becoming less vibrant, the colors desaturating before his eyes as the plants around him started to wilt in a wave. Obi-Wan could only watch in dazed switched from daytime to night in the same wave.

_The stars…there’s no nighttime here…_

Tenuous silence turned to frantic laughter as Obi-Wan slowly rose to his feet. Nothing made sense anymore. He had gone mad. There was nothing else to do but laugh at the absurdity of it all. He had nothing to lose, he _was_ nothing, and no one would be looking for him because he was _dead_ , so what did he have to fear anymore?

His feet barely held his weight but he ran straight into the forests that he avoided for so long, unable to force himself back into that wretched house. He kept stumbling and falling to the ground but scrabbled back up each time his clumsy feet got the best of him. The trees grew less green and supple as the wave morphed them into twisted and diseased husks. The path before him narrowed and became more claustrophobic to the point where he felt he couldn’t breathe. The roots beneath his feet twisted and tripped him too many times to count and Obi-Wan simply laughed the entire time. This was all a hallucinogenic nightmare, it had to be. Qui-Gon wasn’t dead, he’d been drugged by someone, and he was simply hallucinating everything. Maybe Jenna Zan Arbor decided to try her hand on him rather than Qui-Gon this time after escaping the penal colony where she resided. Maybe the Syndicat had wiped his mind and botched the procedure, leaving him in a coma. Maybe he really was dead and this was his eternal reward rather than being thrust into the Force.

No matter the cause, he had no reason to fear. No reason to keep running. Nothing mattered.

The next time he fell, Obi-Wan didn’t try to get up. His legs felt like jelly and his lungs burned and ached with his futile effort. Many of the cuts and burns on his arms and legs that he got while running from vines and brambles had broken open once more, bleeding thick rivulets of red streaming down ice-white skin that stretched too tightly around emaciated limbs.

 _Strange…_ Obi-Wan mused while teetering on the edge of consciousness. _…can I die twice?_

He felt gentle hands rubbing his shoulders after an interminable amount of time in what he could only describe as a motherly touch.

_I never had a mother…I don’t know what that’s like…_

“Shh…Obi-Wan. Look at me.”

Obi-Wan obeyed, looking up into the eyes of Qui-Gon, though they were now bright yellow. The smile was kindly but he could see the wicked undertone that came with it. A painful voice ran through his head, making him shriek.

_Y **o** u   c **a** n n o **t   r u n**_

“No, no, no, you’re dead!” Obi-Wan scrambled away but the mud and roots made his progress matter little. “I-I saw you, your…your body…”

“Oh, Obi-Wan…you’re such a pathetic child.” Qui-Gon laughed his normal sarcastic chuckle. “You always have been. Too caught up in the details to see the bigger picture that sits right in front of you. Can you see this?”

A swift boot to the face sent Obi-Wan sprawling into the dirt and mud, his nose cracking audibly as blood began to pour down his face. His body trembled, panic keeping him frozen to the spot as more tears fell down his face, as he stared in horror as Qui-Gon unhooked something from his belt. A cruel-looking lightsaber ignited.

“Qui-Gon…what are you doing with that?” Obi-Wan tried to scurry backwards again to no avail, speaking thickly and nasally through the blood.

“Children need to have a parent in their lives, don’t you know?” Qui-Gon approached slowly, the green blinking to red in a dizzying pattern. “When they run away, their mothers worry. When their children are taken away from them, then they get angry.”

Obi-Wan tried to get to his feet and failed, kneeling on shaking legs. “I-I’m not a child, Qui-Gon, what are you talking about?”

He flinched away as Qui-Gon knelt next to him, brushing a gentle finger over his cheek. The hand changed to a delicate one, which made Obi-Wan look up. Instead of Qui-Gon, an unknown woman knelt by him. Obi-Wan couldn’t place her, but the unmistakable red hair, braided and resting on her shoulder, gave him a clue.

“You hurt me, Obi-Wan.” She frowned. “You left me before I could love you…”

“No…I-I couldn’t do anything, I was taken by the Jedi, please don’t do this-!”

Obi-Wan tried not to look into almost identical blue eyes. He turned away, only to have have his head wrenched upward by his hair, making him cry out.

“I died, Obi-Wan, and you never knew. Those Jedi took you from me and I was so _angry…_ ”

Obi-Wan watched as his mother’s form shimmered and reformed into that of Maul’s, whimpering as his padawan tail was yanked sharply upwards, pulling him to his feet. Maul grinned with black teeth.

“…that all I wanted was revenge. And I shall have it.”

Searing pain was all Obi-Wan could feel next, the scream silenced by all wind being knocked out of his lungs as the green and red light of the saber pierced his chest. Wide-eyed and mouth agape, memories flooded back to him in that singular moment.

_The same face_

_A red saber_

_“No!”_

_Fast footwork_

_Mou-kei_

_A hand touching his face_

_A head on his knee_

_“Train the boy”_

_Pain_

_Pain_

_Pain_

_Pain_

_Endless pain_

Obi-Wan felt himself be lifted into the air by the saber, feeling small thorns hook into his insides as the saber morphed into that of a vine. Coughing brought up blood dripping from his lips, which another vine seemed to wipe away from his face messily. He couldn’t focus his wavering vision on anything but the being’s face, and what he saw when he was faced towards the distorted voice wasn’t Qui-Gon or even anything human at all. Maul’s face, Xanatos’ face, Bruck’s face, Jenna Zan Arbor’s face, Prince Beju’s face, a hooded, wrinkled face that he couldn’t discern that grinned evilly, a black, helmeted face with round eyes that wheezed and felt familiar despite having no recognition of it, even no face at all, a myriad of faces flashed before his eyes before settling on a visage his mind couldn’t comprehend. It must have been a mixture of all of them. The voice that came from the creature was Qui-Gon’s mixed with the painful mental voice he’d heard before, as well as the voices of the others, and they all coalesced into a crowd, shouting one word in unison that deafened his ears.

**_M I N E ._ **

The choked off scream that Obi-Wan let out gurgled and died in his throat as he was pulled viciously into a dense thicket of trees and out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so for all those who are interested in learning the history of Abeloth better than I can explain, the Wookieepedia article on her does a much better job, as well as any related pages linked on there. Also, while I haven't read the series, the Fate of the Jedi series is where Abeloth comes from. Fun fact: She's actually quasi-canon! Lucas Licensing actually approached the author since he wrote about her after the Mortis arc happened and said "Hey, why don't you use the Ones as her origin story?" And hey, I think if Lucas anything touched anything pre-Disney, I consider it canon.
> 
> I could ramble a lot in here but I figure it best just to leave the chapter with this: If you have any questions or want to leave praise or tell me how shit things are, the comments box is right down there.
> 
> http://punk--kenobi.tumblr.com


	6. His Spirit's Sleeping Somewhere Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plo and Quinlan make their way to the Maw and Homeworld, but getting to Abeloth herself and Obi-Wan won't be that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, first off: Sorry for the month long hiatus! A lot has happened in this time, including being laid off from my job only two months after getting it(Budget issues, bleh), massive writer's block, my birthday, and just general depression has kicked my ass. However, that has also meant I've worked on this chapter this whole time, and it grew into TWO chapters! Granted, they're shorter chapters compared to the rest, but I don't like reading large chapters and I'm not gonna subject you guys to that, too, especially with all that's going on in these next two.
> 
> I don't think the tags change much this go around, but please keep them in mind! I know a new ship tag has been added, which may confuse some, but I didn't want to add it on until it became relevant. Regardless, like all of my work, there's really no porn in it if that's what you're expecting for an endgame.

Quinlan woke with a start to the chime of his door going off. Blearily, he picked up his chronometer and saw that it was barely three in the morning.

“Does he really want to leave this early?” Quinlan grumbled as he pulled his sleep shirt and pants on that he’d neglected to put on.

Padding out to the front room, Quinlan opened the door with a yawn. He was utterly unsurprised to see Plo standing in the doorway, rolling his eyes.

“The sun isn’t even up yet…” He groused. “What do you want?”

“I cannot sleep.” Plo admitted.

“Join the party, I just got to sleep an hour ago.” Quinlan yawned again for emphasis, gesturing for him to come inside.

Plo cocked his head as he followed, keeping his comments on the disorganized living space to himself. He studied a familiar teapot that sat on a shelf in his kitchenette intently before pulling it down.

“This is Obi-Wan’s.” He observed neutrally.

“Yeah, what of it?” Quinlan replied groggily. “He left it here once, didn’t bother to get it back. So what?”

“So you do have a deeper reason for coming with me.” Plo found the cupboards that held tea, caf, and not much else. “Interesting.”

“By the stars, it is too damned early for this.” Quinlan made for his couch, which he flopped unceremoniously onto. “I’m not having any of your psychoanalyzing right now.”

“It is not psychoanalyzing when I was the one who gave it to him.” Plo shuffled around, boiling water. “A gift for his eighteenth naming day, you should remember.”

Quinlan winced. He’d forgotten that memory in the uproar of the past week. Plo and everyone at the small party had seen how he’d kissed Obi-Wan’s cheek with a furtive, sly grin, passing it off as a joke. He had laughed at how red Obi-Wan’s ears had become but only in secret did he make them turn redder. He wondered if the telepathic Jedi had known about how they’d ducked away to a deserted corner of the Temple once they were out of earshot, only to return a half hour later. They’d hidden the whole thing behind lies, of course, had confined their relationship to trysts in between missions and quiet nights where both of them could get their anger and despair and anxiety out within each other’s arms. He knew many of Obi-Wan’s possessions were here, Plo seemed to figure it out just as quickly. He spied one of Obi-Wan’s tunics, one he knew Plo couldn’t have missed, sitting on the back of a chair in the corner. How long had it been since they’d last undressed together, shared his bed? He could have touched the shirt, relived the memory, but he didn’t want to. Not now.

Thankfully, Plo decided to let the matter go as he continued to make tea and caf without preamble. Within minutes, he carried two steaming cups to the couch table, setting them down. Quinlan drank his caf eagerly while Plo held his tea in his hands. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, letting the sun begin to peek over the urban horizon of Coruscant through the main window.

“You’re not going to say anything?” Quinlan spoke over the rim of his cup.

“Why would I?” Plo watched him carefully. “I have no right to judge.”

“You’re a member of the Council. You could have me be brought before you all, analyzed, and kicked out of the Order.” Quinlan shrugged. “You have all right to judge.”

“I may be a member of the Council, but that does not mean I can judge you.” Plo set down his cup. “If you love someone, keep them in your life as long as possible.”

Quinlan was about to ask, but Plo’s stiff posture indicated there was little that would be elaborated on. Something had hurt him and terribly, he’d seen the same look in those he observed on stakeout missions.

“We all have skeletons in our closet, don’t we?” He tried to leaven the mood, only to wince again when Plo looked away, looking even more uncomfortable at the wording.

“Yes, we do.” Plo replied, looking out of the window at the red sky in thought.

\-----

Later that morning, Plo was setting the ship’s systems to be able to withstand the radioactivity and the violent upheaval they were bound to face. The Maw was a place well-known for being avoided, as no starship pilot that had ventured too close had returned. Plo focused on Obi-Wan’s life signs, which wavered ominously. They weren’t close enough in the Force for him to send healing energy, so Plo was left with just that knowledge alone. Quinlan prepped the rest of the ship for the Kessel Run, since they would only take a ship that had what they needed to be defensive against threats and with a small area for a passenger to be kept. Still, there were modifications that he needed to make to make the ship serviceable in such a situation.

“Plo, what if we’re being baited into something?” Quinlan’s voice broke the tenuous silence.

Plo’s eyes never left the ship’s controls, typing in coordinates for the Maw manually, as the ship didn’t have them in its banks. It was clear he was still upset by their conversation earlier that morning, but he’d focused his mind elsewhere.

“I am entirely sure that we are, Knight Vos.”

“Then do you think she’s wanting us to come for him? Two more Jedi for her to take?”

Neither said what the other was thinking. It was obvious by now that Obi-Wan was probably past fighting, past being _able_ to fight in the first place, even if he wanted to. The possibility of finding Obi-Wan alive and well was becoming slimmer and slimmer by the hour. Abeloth would grow weary of her prize, take his spirit, and then leave him drained of personality if he survived at all. Then she would come for them, then the rest of the Jedi. All it would take was two strong Jedi spirits that were coming for her.

“Abeloth is toying with him, something that has never been in any record of the legends before. She normally devours Jedi souls as soon as she can have them. The fact that she has not taken Obi-Wan’s soul yet indicates she likely has some other purpose for him or an ulterior motive for her own gain.”

“If he’s fallen-“

“Obi-Wan is not lost to us.” Plo downright growled, furrowing his brow and sent out the request for departure to the tower. “We can save him.”

“…I just hope you’re right.” Quinlan frowned and plopped in his chair, listening to the radio. “Request for departure approved. Looks like it’s time to hit the road.”

“Our trip will take a few days, so I would spend that time in meditation before you must travel through the Kessel Run.” Plo suggested. “Your thoughts suggest anxiety.”

Quinlan chuckled. “Stay outta my mind, old man, unless it’s necessary.”

“Of course.” Plo replied evenly.

With that, he navigated the ship up out of the hangar bay and out of the atmosphere. As they made the jump to hyperspace, Plo had a fleeting doubt about the entire thing.

_Will there really be anything left of Obi-Wan to bring home, even if his spirit is intact?_

\-----

A sharp keel to the right five days into hyperspace sent the two veering in their seats and out of whatever forced meditation they had been in. Plo checked the computer.

“An asteroid impact knocked us out of hyperspace.” He noted as he buckled his seat restraints. “That must mean-“

“Alright, the Kessel Run!” Quinlan’s excitement started to grow as he straightened up in his chair and gripped the control column eagerly, a wide grin on his face. “Let’s see what this ship is made of.”

Straightening his posture, Plo held onto the control panel due to the rumors of Vos’ piloting skills, reading out the readings in his normal calm tone.

“Radiation levels at normal levels, hull pressure at one-hundred and five percent and holding…”

Quinlan breathed and navigated the beginnings of the treacherous terrain with more ease than most. Most that traveled through the Kessel Run were destroyed, though Jedi reflexes made for easier traversing through it. Plo settled into the co-pilot’s seat and buckled himself in, helping to clear the way by blasting some of the asteroids and other space detritus.  Even avoiding many obstacles, impacts with the ship from the outside happened nonetheless. One particularly harsh impact made the bridge’s lights flicker in and out, certain panels sparking.

“Our hyperspace drive is knocked out, Master Plo!” Quinlan shouted over the rabble of sirens. “A direct hit!”

“We do not need it right now. Focus on evading the asteroids.” Plo replied calmly, blasting a group of asteroids headed for them. “If we can just-“

Another barrage of asteroids battered the hull. The attack never relented, coming back in waves as Quinlan bobbed and weaved. Even if this wasn’t of Abeloth’s design, it was brutal nonetheless. Plo wondered why smugglers and traders would risk their lives and ships just for the few credits they could get out of this corridor of space. On and on this went for several parsecs, though Quinlan seemed to almost be having fun at the challenge given to him. Laughs and emphatic whoops of joy escaped him as he twisted through the debris but both went silent at the sight that appeared in front of them as the asteroids thinned out.

At least ten or twenty black holes in the distance clustered together, likely more in the distance, leaving the space around them desolate and empty of star systems or anything organic or inorganic. Blankness faced them in a monstrous simplicity while a giant accretion disk seemed to surround the space where the black holes resided, spinning furiously. It was little wonder Kessel was as desolate and unstable as it was. Even from far away, the ship seemed to be pulled toward the massive cloud. Still, it didn’t seem that anything outside of the immediate vicinity was in trouble, as Plo’s research showed that the space was neither growing nor shrinking in size and hadn’t done so for thousands or even millions of years. In fact, the cloud around the space seemed to serve as a buffer for the rest of the galaxy, growing in size seemingly of its own accord without absorbing new material. If Abeloth wanted new victims, they had to come to her. This was no simple task that brought Jedi to her planet.

Plo tapped in some commands to try and counteract the gravitational pull that the Maw exuded to gain some control, readjusting the resistance to the radiation. These were familiar commands, as piloting around Dorin posed similar risks for anyone, even the Kel-Dor themselves. The twin black holes that guarded his planet made getting in and out a difficult task that not many wished to repeat. Certainly, he was not eager to try piloting around Dorin again, though the black holes were the least of his worries.

“Find your helmet, Vos. Our path is extremely hazardous from here.” Plo ordered, focusing on getting the ship prepared to enter the accretion disk.

“Wait, wait, wait, we have to go in there?!” Quinlan rubbed his face as Plo steered the ship. “Are you mad?!”

“Obi-Wan is in there somewhere.” Plo stared out into the darkness as he typed in coordinates. “I have navigated ships around black holes before. Now find your mask before we continue.”

“Yes, but this isn’t a routine trader ship to Dorin!” Quinlan settled in the copilot’s seat and attached the breathing mask to his face and put on the protective helmet. “There’s at least twenty black holes in there, there’s no way we’ll be able to weave around them. If one doesn’t suck us in, another will.”

“Calm yourself.” Plo turned to him. “Everything is as the Force wills it to be.”

Quinlan looked out the viewscreen nervously and shook his head. “There’s no way we can survive in there, the Force or not.”

“The black holes are of little consequence in comparison and only act as barriers for entry from beings such as ourselves.” Plo paused the ship and turned to look at Quinlan. “I do not think you should be worried about them so much as what they contain inside. If Abeloth has to be contained within numerous black holes, think of what that may indicate.”

There was uneasy silence between the two for several minutes before Quinlan spoke up again.

“You’re really not good at pep talks, are you? I feel so much better.” Quinlan chided, sarcasm dripping in his tone.

“That was never my intention-“

Both were startled by a harsh electrical static generated from the ship’s comm unit. A faint voice was coming through it, muddied enough to be barely comprehensible.

“Obi-Wan!”

Quinlan jumped into motion, trying to hail him back, fiddling with the switches on the control panel. The voice cleared up only a bit, though they realized it wasn’t strictly a voice quickly.

Agonized sobs and whimpers came through the speaker, choking and coughing and spluttering sending dread down their spines. Both Jedi winced at the sounds, unable to hear their friend in such despair and pain. Plo felt only the same erratic brain activity he had for the past few days, which meant it wasn’t Obi-Wan sending the message at all. The message cut out as a loud, choked scream filled the bridge. Quinlan had to turn the volume down as static drowned Obi-Wan out.

Plo turned in his seat and centered himself, letting his anxiety and worry go to the Force. He then turned to Quinlan, sending calm his way.

“Something is not right. Obi-Wan’s brain activity should have spiked if he were in genuine distress.” Plo mused. “We must hope that she has not taken Obi-Wan’s form.”

Quinlan’s anxiety was alluring to fall into as Plo began to navigate carefully into the the accretion disk, going with the speed of the spinning rather than trying to fight it. He knew that they would have to travel to the center of the mass to find Homeworld. As the ship started to creak and shriek around them, the metal plating began to tear off the outermost parts of the hull, which Plo had anticipated.

“What are you doing, Master?!” Quinlan shouted over the din of alarm klaxons. “The ship’s coming apart, we have to leave!”

“Patience, Knight, patience.” Plo steered without fear, accepting their fate for what it would be. “This is but an illusion.”

“What are you talking about?!”

As the ship neared its breaking point, there was the visage of a dark planet in the ship’s view, almost hidden among the void space that surrounded it. The blank space of the black holes surrounded their ship, as well as the gigantic structure far in the distance, Sinkhole Station. Debris seemed to be floating around the station, indicating that the prison had been partially damaged in Abeloth’s escape.

“Homeworld.” Plo breathed hard, as even the forces that took the ship in had taken a toll on his body. “Abeloth’s refuge.”

With a jolt, their ship seemed to move once more out of their control, hurtling into the planet’s atmosphere with abandon. Before either could realize it, they were thrust into unconsciousness as their ship collided with the cold ground and knew no more.

\-----

Quinlan realized that they were alive when he came to, his face resting in a puddle of mud and not bloated in the vacuum of space. Generally, he would say that that was a plus. He would have been dead and while Master Plo could have withstood space for a while, it wasn’t a comfortable way to go.

Now _where_ they were, he didn’t know.

He got up and wiped off his face with a grimace as the sludge sluiced onto his arm. How did they end up outside of the ship? It was sitting right there, perfectly intact. Perhaps they were ejected…except the transparisteel of the viewscreen wasn’t even broken. Heading inside, he found that none of the technology inside worked. Even the chronometer was malfunctioning, moving at least hundreds of times normal Galactic Standard speed.  What the kriff was going on?

A pained groan set Quinlan into action, getting up and heading towards the source of the noise. Plo lay on his side with his left arm cradled to his chest. It was clear the bone was broken, though Quinlan had heard of Plo fighting with broken limbs before. Still, the arm knitted back together slowly and he could tell Plo was repairing it with the Force, but the job couldn’t be done by the Force alone. He would need medical attention after a time.

“Master? Are you alright?” he asked, helping him up off of the muddy ground.

“I…I seemed to have collided with something quite hard upon impact.” Plo waved him off with his uninjured arm, wiping mud off of his mask with disdain. “I am fine otherwise.”

The two looked around and surveyed their environment. The planet seemed to be nearly devoid of life, grass all but nonexistent save for some weeds and trees that were gnarled and diseased. The actual terrain seemed to change every few paces, dead forest shifting to putrid bog to expanses of arid desert that put Plo on edge in particular.

“We must be careful.” His voice lowered. “She already knows our weaknesses.”

The endless black of the Maw above provided no light, and that left them with only disgusting fungi and their bioluminescence lighting the way in little pinpricks. A low fog blanketed the ground that they stood on. There was no direction, no paths to take. They stood in the middle of nowhere.

“If she had the chance, why didn’t she just leave the Maw entirely?” Quinlan furrowed his brow, examining one of the fungi. “It makes no sense.”

“I am not sure.” Plo replied, settling on a tree stump by a patch of shrubs. “Perhaps she knew the Son and Daughter would be looking for her. Therefore, she waited and dragged someone to her instead of shifting forms to hide somewhere else.”

Unable to see the threat before it came, Plo felt himself topple to the ground, broken arm spiking with pain, as hands clutched around his ankles and started to pull him into the shrubs behind him.

“Vos!”

That was the last thing he could utter before hands brought him into the fold quicker than Quinlan could help, disappearing without a trace.

“Plo!” Quinlan shouted as the hands grabbed at him, too, the shrubs moving to surround him. He hadn’t seen much action as a Jedi Knight yet, so this was utterly out of his sphere. The stars overhead blinked and seemed to fade in and out of existence. He was nervous, admittedly, but tried to remember that Abeloth could and would use that fear against him.

“Not today.” Quinlan whispered urgently. “I’m not being groped by demigod hands today.”

Obi-Wan was here somewhere, he was certain. He had to get him back, regardless of where Plo went, as they had limited time. Powering on his lightsaber, he shouted as he tore through the mass of limbs, hearing shrieks surround him. He reached a long, narrow hallway after several minutes of hacking at the phantom limbs, ears ringing with the shrieks. Quinlan panted and gazed down the path that had illuminated itself. Darkness at the end prevented him from seeing anything notable. It seemed like he could walk for miles without reaching the end.

A bright wisp of light emerged from the darkness. He felt an almost familiar aura from it as he decided to follow it up a rock face and past a dank, dripping cave entrance. Something about it called to him as he doubled back, staring down the long, dark cavern. Quinlan swore he could hear bubbling water in the distance and realized his mouth felt bone dry. The wisp of light tried to keep him from going down into the cave but he needed to have a drink of water. Quinlan followed the path until it split up and he accidentally stumbled into a pitch dark antechamber. He pulled out his lightsaber again, illuminating the space, but what the light illuminated filled Quinlan with panic.

Skeletons. Hundreds, thousands of skeletons from all different types of species. Their lightsabers and clothing piled up in the corner, reaching nearly as high as the bodies themselves. The mass seemed to tremble and shift, turning to look at him with hundreds of yellow eyes. Phantom voices moaned and keened, all saying the same thing.

_“Save…us…please…”_

Quinlan ran, remembering the way out of the cave and up the cliff side to the top. Eventually, he arrived at a little old house in a clearing, seemingly untouched by the rot and mildew of the world around them. A disgusting rain started to fall as he frantically opened the door to the house, slamming the door shut, and finally looked back outside to see the wisp of light floating outside.

It seemed panicked as the door locked of its own volition, separating the two of them, and Quinlan shouted as it danced away into the darkness out of fear.

\-----

Plo was surrounded by ghosts when he awoke, translucent forms floating around him haphazardly. His arm throbbed dangerously and yet his Force healing had become even less useful, so he simply pushed back the pain until he could release it to the Force. Each ghost continued to wail silently, translucent forms twisted in agony as their limbs flailed. Zabrak, Ithorian, human, Duros, Wookiee, Mandalorian…every form of alien life resided here in misery. Plo marveled at the innumerable spirits he could see and wondering how many he couldn’t in the near pitch-blackness of this prison.

_Save…us…please…_

“Obi-Wan?” He asked quietly while walking among the forms, not wishing to disturb the chanting. “Obi-Wan?”

_No. He isn’t here yet. He is out there, wandering._

The familiar voice made Plo spin around, coming face to face with the specter of Qui-Gon Jinn himself.

“How can I trust you?” Plo scowled. “You may yet be an illusion. You are what drove Obi-Wan here in the first place.”

_Trust is something you can’t, nor shouldn’t have in this place. Obi-Wan learned that too late, at my hand._

Plo watched as Qui-Gon’s form shimmered, a choked sob bitten back. “Where is he, Qui-Gon?”

Qui-Gon didn’t answer, clear pain and sorrow on his ethereal features as he lamented.

_I’m forced to watch him suffer while he thinks I’m the cause. She wanted both of us to suffer…_

“Where is he?” Plo pressed, trying not to encourage such thinking. “Once Obi-Wan is safe, you can process. Where are we and where is Obi-Wan now?”

_We are where all of the spirits Abeloth steals are kept. We aren’t allowed to pass into the Force, she doesn’t will it to be so. She can’t transform unless she has spirits to use, so we’re kept in this dimension of her mind._

“Then how am I here?” Plo looked around. “It does not seem as if material objects or people exist here.”

_This isn’t the plane of existence you reside upon. Other spirits pulled you here with their limited strength into this dimension to get your help. We cannot ask of your help, as it is not the Jedi who can help us with our plight, but they try nonetheless._

Plo looked around, only to realize that most of the spirits here were, in fact, Jedi. That made sense regarding her lore, his eyes traveling over the ghostly forms of many Jedi from the Old Republic eras and even beyond. Regret filled him as he realized he couldn’t help anyone here.

_You can help me. I’ll show you to where Abeloth is weakest, but you must help me escape this place in return._

“How?” Plo asked.

_When the time is right, you’ll feel a cold sensation pervade you. Do not expel it into the Force. I wish to linger with Obi-Wan for a while longer as the Whills allowed me to do._

“Very well.” Plo agreed and straightened his posture. “Now for the information.”

Plo was suddenly shown a vision of a house on a beautiful planet, the Son and Daughter helping to build it while a woman clad in white and with long, blonde hair watched on in rapture. The image flashed, as if on a faulty holoprojector, until it cleared and showed the same house, but Qui-Gon’s form was leading Obi-Wan into it. It stuttered again, the light and beauty of the home marred by the darkness but sat untouched by the death and decay around it in the dark.

“This house…this is where she’s weakest?”  

_Yes. She could not stay in it for long periods when she used me. It nearly drove both she and myself to madness, which is why she kept Obi-Wan confined there and abandoned. It is where her memories are kept, you see._

“Then Quinlan…” Plo realized with dawning horror that one with psychometric powers could be driven insane in a place saturated with memories such as there. “Everything he touches…”

_You must rescue him from the house, Master Koon. It is a dangerous place, and now Obi-Wan’s memories have saturated the space as well. They are graphic and…intense._

“Take me there.” Plo ordered. “I do not know if this is another trick, but I am willing to follow you.”

_Good. I will need to access your mind to help you leave this place._

“Of course.” Plo agreed before thinking quickly. “You still care for him, Qui-Gon.”

_Always. I love Obi-Wan. Not in the way he wanted, I couldn’t, but…I want him to be brought home. I want to be brought home with him. I know he will fear me from now on, but…I need to leave this place. It is nothing but torture for everyone who strays too far into myth. Perhaps one day…he will want to speak with me again._

Plo mulled over the information. There was no certainty of genuine sentiment here, but this spirit was his only choice.

“Then send me back.” Plo urged. “Time is of the essence.”

_Luckily, time is an illusion on Homeworld. Let me help you._

Plo felt a sense of cold in his bones that he normally didn’t feel.

_I’ve given you the information needed to get to the house. Now you simply have to think about a clearing with a small house. This dimension is Abeloth’s, so her mind is linked to this place. Think of what you need or want and it will be given to you because I’ve given you that power. You are on an even keel with her in this respect. I no longer want that power and never did._

Plo wanted to question it but decided not to, as there was little time to waste. He kept his thoughts on the house and a walkway opened up in the wall of the prison, ending in darkness as far as he could see.

_Keep walking into the darkness. It’ll lead you to the house._

Plo complied, feeling that he would be consistently on pins and needles the entire time he traveled the dark pathways without an obvious end.

\-----

_“Children, come inside!”_

_A green haired woman and her dark counterpart paused in their terraforming, dropping the chunks of earth in their grasp and willed them to float in midair…_

_“You both are my entire world now, don’t you know? I love you more than anything else in the galaxy…”_

_Twin smiles accompanied hugs._

_“We love you, too, Mother.”_

Quinlan was thrown out of the memory and onto the floor, where he scrabbled for purchase as his hand landed on the knob of the staircase railing.

_“I-I hate you!”_

_“No, you don’t.”_

_Qui-Gon’s familiar voice was now a growl as he grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand off of the knob._

_“You can’t live without me. Look at you. You’re pathetic. You wouldn’t be alive without me…”_

_A hand tilted a quivering chin up with its thumb._

_“You love me, Obi-Wan.”_

_“I-I love you, Qui-Gon.”_

Quinlan jerked his hand away from the railing, jealousy raising his ire. He had to see how far Obi-Wan obsessed over Qui-Gon. His hand landed on a wall.

_“I wish I could remember all of this time I’ve spent with you…”_

_“We can do that for you.”_

_The wall now bore tens of picture frames all along the walls._

_“If they break, then the memory will be gone forever.” The woman spoke. “Be careful with them.”_

_“They are your consciousness, much as this planet is ours.” The man added. “One day, you too shall be allowed our gifts.”_

Quinlan shouted as he felt his head split open as he came back to the world yet again, noting how few of the frames remained. An unfamiliar sense of power flowed throughout him, dizzying in its intensity. He stumbled upstairs, flashes upon flashes of memories spinning his head and making him feel nauseous. An empty room lay next to the landing where the walls were pockmarked with nail tracks and blood stains. He felt compelled to touch the door frame-

_“Qui-Gon!”_

_All he could hear in his ears was his own screams, no matter how hard he tried to make them go away. Even when he stopped he could hear himself shriek. Now his throat had broken, seemed to no longer want to make sound. Probably for the best._

_It had been weeks since he’d been let out of the featureless room. Weeks, months, years, he had no idea how long he’d been trapped. He dug his nails into the drywall, the ones he hadn’t bitten bloody, and carved letter after letter into the material. He couldn’t yell, but he could write._

_Come back, I love you, please…_

_Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon, Qui-Gon…_

Quinlan fought to keep his nausea at bay as he returned, spying something on the floor. On further inspection, it looked to be Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid. Again, the compulsion to touch it kicked in as he picked it up. He was thrown into a memory that made him lose his fight as the nausea won out.

_No longer a Jedi, no longer a student…_

_Qui-Gon’s voice echoed in his ears as he dug at his skin with blunted nails until he bled, feeling unclean and as if his skin was too tight. He wanted to crawl out of it, become a new being like Nabooian butterflies did._

_He was no longer a person but an object, a plaything for Qui-Gon’s amusement…he loved it, didn’t care how it hurt. Wanted more, wanted all that Qui-Gon would give him._

_He was broken, shattered and disgusting and unworthy of anything, but he wanted more, more, more-_

The constant memories here were worse than in Obi-Wan’s quarters, hurting so much more in their intensity and content. Quinlan doubled over and heaved, anger at Qui-Gon flowing through him freely. He knew Qui-Gon wasn’t really Qui-Gon, so why was he so furious, so jealous of him? He wanted to throttle the man, pin him to the floor, and drain the life out of him with every second as his hands tightened around his trachea. Quinlan opened his eyes to see the blue form of Qui-Gon, his hands digging into realistic flesh. Scrabbling away in terror, he found himself at another door. The master bedroom was a disaster. The bed linens were strewn all over, pillows thrown off the bed. He couldn’t bear to touch any of them after the memory with the braid, inching around to the bathroom where an ornate tub sat at the wall by a window, filled to the brim with water. Quinlan knew better than to touch it, unusual and eerie as it was and reeling from his visions and memories, but something nearly pushed him to go over and peer into it.

_Mine._

A hand came up from the bottom and pulled him in, though it didn’t even feel like a _memory-_

_Dark splotches crept up his arms and legs as he glanced down, the flesh bubbling and undulating. Tentacles flopped onto the ground where his arms used to be, bug-like arms sprouting from his back. He could only stare in horror at the new appendages, backing away as he lost control of his limbs, falling to the ground._

_The old man in front of him frowned, not in anger but disappointment. Shrouded eyes seemed emotionless, masked mouth gave away no tells._

_“Look at what you have become. You’re a monster. You cannot leave this place. Through your greed, you have become a threat to the entire galaxy.”_

_His face morphed, his watering eyes falling out of his skull and his teeth grew and tore into sharp fangs, pain wracking his mutating form. He doubled over on the ground, completely inhuman as his form shifted and morphed out of his control, writhing in the shallows of the pool. The man watched him as he screamed, morphing into a form larger than any humanoid and dripping venom from his fangs…_

_“You disgust me. I take my leave of you.”_

_The figure vanished. A forked tongue lashed the air as he shrieked into the empty abyss that he had been surrounded by._

_“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you-!”_

A taloned hand pulled him up out of the ornate, antique style tub by the back of his tunic, spluttering and coughing and gasping in air.

“I’ll kill you!” He shouted, his arms raising up in defense as he tried to strike out at the figure that turned him around. “I’ll kill you!”

The man grabbed his arms easily, trapped them behind his back, and led him away from the tub quite roughly. In horror, Quinlan realized he didn’t recognize who he was as he passed the mirror. He wasn’t a monster, he was a man, sopping wet and with bright yellow eyes that pierced the darkness.

“Quinlan…I am Plo Koon.” Plo soothed as he led Quinlan out of the bathroom and downstairs. “We are Jedi from the Temple on Coruscant.”

“Wh-What…” Quinlan growled, still trying to fight him despite the information. “Let go of me.”

He tried to break free of the grip once they were on the landing and twisted to strike again but felt himself be forced to the floor, a knee digging into his back.

“You are being controlled by a being known as Abeloth.” Plo continued, digging his knee into Quinlan’s back and hissed behind him as one arm moved away from holding him prone. “I am your friend and I will not harm you. Strong Force powers are being laid upon you here and you must fight them.”

Quinlan breathed heavily, still feeling rage course through his veins as he struggled where he was pinned. “Qui-Gon Jinn, that _kriffing-_ ”

“Qui-Gon is dead and has been since before this happened, Quinlan.” Plo lessened the pressure of his knee and and started to stand. “Once we’re out of here, I think you should remember that.”

He tried to wrench away and Plo let him leave. He stumbled and made his way clumsily to the door, all but throwing himself out of the house and down onto the ground outside. With the threshold cleared, Quinlan felt himself relax, realizing with recognition that it really was Plo that was standing behind him calmly, holding his arm gingerly. The condition of it seemed worse, nearly bent out of shape now, but whatever pain Plo felt was easily hidden.

“Let your rage go, Quinlan.” He spoke quietly. “This is how Abeloth will corrupt us, with jealousy and anger.”

He sent waves of calm and peace to the young Knight, making sure that Quinlan was truly calm before he approached again. Quinlan sat up and held his head in his hands.

“I-I’m sorry, Master.” He bowed his head in contrition. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I forgive you.” Plo nodded in acknowledgement. “This is one of her tricks. Take a few minutes to compose yourself as we walk.”

Inwardly, Quinlan was starting to think that Plo’s reason for being here wasn't just Obi-Wan's safety. Easily the least judgemental of the Council, Quinlan always wondered why Plo rarely spoke in meetings aside from forgiving and playing devil's advocate for the victim. He'd taken on a reputation of being friendly and kind and protective toward the younger Temple members. Sith hells, he'd been forgiven for nearly killing him without a second thought! Plo acted as if it was nothing, as if it was as forgivable as an accidental shove, as if his own life and safety meant nothing so long as those he cared about were protected. 

 __"Do not let your thoughts wander where they should not, Vos." Plo's voice beside him made him jump. "A valuable lesson to learn."

Quinlan sighed. They were far from the Temple and the Council here on Homeworld, walking into an empty, desolate field with nothing but blank canvas above for sky. The world seemed monochrome here with nothing living in it, Quinlan realized. The geography made no sense, as if the world around them changed and shifted as they walked.

“What do we do now?” Quinlan asked warily. “We can’t get to him when nothing stays the same. I don’t even know where that wretched house is now…”

Plo pulled out his lightsaber. Igniting it was something he had been hesitant to do here as he tried to light his path better than using the fungi. The flora seemed to shy away from the foreign light. He remembered something Qui-Gon’s spirit had taught him.

“Think about a large tree, Knight Vos, in a clearing. That is where Abeloth and Obi-Wan are.” Plo began walking in a random direction. “Do not think of anything else. Think of the tree and a path will be shown to us.”

“Wait…what?” Quinlan received no answer and sighed, following Plo into the fog while thinking about the tree.

Before long, Plo stopped before a large, twisted mass of trees, a path into them appearing from nowhere. Plo raised his lightsaber and continued forward. After a seemingly endless amount of time, the small wisp of light that Quinlan had followed appeared at the end of the pathway.

“Hey, it’s the thing that led me into the house!” He piped up.

Plo cocked his head, examining it. “Why…it almost seems like-“

Without warning, he collapsed to his knees with a soft grunt into the dirt. Quinlan was at his side immediately, hands steadying him on his shoulders as tremors ran throughout his body. He wondered if Plo’s arm had finally become unbearable with the wrestling, but it didn’t seem to be that.

“Are you alright?” He asked nervously. “What’s wrong? We’re almost there!”

“I cannot feel him.” Plo’s voice bled fear as he shook harder. “Quinlan, I cannot feel him anymore!”

“What does that mean?” Quinlan had never seen Plo in such a state, which threw him off. “Plo, what’s wrong?”

“I should not have let him go…” Plo’s voice lowered as his hands dug into the sand below their feet. “I should have kept him in the Temple…”

Quinlan didn’t remember them walking on sand, nor the air chilling suddenly around them.

“Come on, we’re almost there.” Quinlan wrapped an arm around Plo’s shoulders. “Let’s keep walking. Wherever Abeloth is, Obi-Wan has to be there, too.”

Resolute, he tried to lift Plo onto his feet and helped him along with no protest. There was the rest of the path and the small wisp of light that seemed to move faster now. Quinlan knew what he was following now, knew why it felt familiar.

_We’re coming, Obi-Wan. We’re following you. You’re not alone anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case anyone's curious(Probably not), the scene with Qui-Gon and the spirits(As well as Homeworld as a whole) is actually an idea I directly ripped from my and my friends' D&D campaign! Long story short, it was a pocket universe that acted as a hive mind for the people in it, which meant that they controlled the area and the world outside of it, too, based on their thoughts and emotions(Much like how Abeloth controls Homeworld and everything in it with her body and mind). However, time moved at hundreds of times the speed of the normal world and the people were trapped in there due to the master controller being killed. For such a mental strength based situation as these two are in, I thought it fitting as the time on Homeworld is meant to be hundreds of times faster and the world constantly shifts, so controlling where to go via thoughts made sense. 
> 
> ...yeah, okay, I'll admit it's a bit convoluted and I had trouble keeping it all consistent. I hope everyone liked it anyway!


	7. Belladonna Melodrama in Her Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plo and Quinlan face Obi-Wan and the being controlling him, only to find their friend dying and their enemy ready for a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm sorry for the wait. Between sudden unemployment, travel, and the start of school, August has been absolutely crazy. This is the last chapter where Obi-Wan's actively hurt, though, so yay! I've out-angsted myself this time. I've lost most of my motivation to finish this, but at the same time I want to. I love the story I've created, even if I have writing block after writing block.
> 
> As usual, check the tags! I don't think anything should change from here on out, but just in case.

Coming into the innermost sanctum, Plo and Quinlan stopped dead in their tracks as their eyes traveled along with the white wisp that streaked upwards. A tree towered before them, taller and more gnarled than the rest at what Quinlan had to guess was about forty meters tall, the branches fanning out while yellow, ugly leaves hung down all the way to the ground unusually. Vines intertwined themselves in the branches, twisting down the trunk. The same fungi that lit their way seemed to form a ring around the base. The wisp promptly pierced the veil of hanging leaves and went out of sight. The two ran towards the tree, trying to stay as calm as possible as they examined the unusually drooping tree.

“This must be it.” Quinlan muttered, looking to Plo. He seemed shaken, but otherwise fine and recovered from his breakdown.

“It is what I saw in my mind.” Plo replied in the same, hushed tone. “Ugly, unusual…”

“I know.”

The two searched around the clearing for any signs of Obi-Wan’s presence. They knew this tree had to be Abeloth’s making, which meant he had to be around the area somewhere. Their search didn’t last long, however, as Plo stopped by the trunk, a hand on the vine-covered bark.

“I can sense him again.” Plo visibly winced. “Vos, he is-“

_R o **c k** a   **b y** e   b **a b** y   i n   **t h** e   t r **e e** t o **p**_

Both Quinlan and Plo hissed as the grating, screeching voice echoed through their minds.

“That is a nursery rhyme…” Plo remembered with a start. “My sibling, Sui, sings it to the infants in the creche when they are upset.”

“Then why-“ Quinlan started, but was cut off by a weak, choked whine, far up in the branches and obscured by the leaves draping down to the ground.

“Obi-Wan!”

The both of them ran for the source of the sound. They shared twin expressions of terror when their eyes landed on a pale form, suspended tens of feet above the ground. Obi-Wan’s white tunic had been thoroughly ripped apart and stained brown and red from dirt and blood. Their shock at his condition only heightened when they realized what was holding him seemingly in midair amid the veil of leaves. A particularly thick and thorny vine, an offshoot of the ones wrapping around the rest of the tree, impaled through Obi-Wan’s torso and emerged from out of his mouth before curling upward like a hook. His arms and legs dangled limply behind him, clearly broken and bruised in many places. Quinlan backed up, fighting the urge to be sick as Plo held his ground as the moment of numb shock. The tree shivered under a gust of wind that kicked up the dirt and sand around them. Obi-Wan only seemed semiconscious as he swayed.

_W h **e n   t** h **e** w i n **d   b** l **o w** s   t **h** e   c r **a d l** e   w **i** l l   **r o c k**_

“We have to get him down!” Quinlan shouted over the gusts that now picked up in ferocity, trying to find a way to climb the admittedly quite climbable trunk.

The life signs Plo could feel were waning. The trees shifted around them and another gust of wind picked up, pushing Quinlan away from the base of the trunk with a push that sent him sprawling to the ground.

“I would not do that, Vos…” Plo started backing away carefully. “Move.”

“Why?!”

Quinlan was about to protest when the ground cracked beside him. He scrambled to his feet and joined Plo, standing tens of feet away towards the edge of the clearing.

**_W h_ ** _e n   t h **e** b **o** w  **b r** e a **k** s   **t** h e   c **r a** d l **e** w i **l l** f **a** l l_

“…that is why.”

They could see that the vine that Obi-Wan was impaled on had started to move inside of him, the wet, gory sounds making both of their stomachs turn dangerously as Obi-Wan whimpered. The vine paled before turning into a thin, spiked digit while the surrounding branches morphed into a spindly hand, the finger still lodged inside his body by the torso. The tree itself morphed as the stocky trunk slimmed down into a morbidly thin, vaguely human figure that ended with the white dress billowing into the fog. The branches near the top thinned out and multiplied into insectoid arms that sprouted from white-clad shoulders, the hanging leaves multiplying into a long swathe of blonde hair which covered the top of her face as it fell to the ground. Tentacles grew from her back, some shifting into numerous arms while others turned into insectoid legs. Some tentacles stayed as they were, wrapping around the other limbs. Her head angled down to peer at them. Her smile revealed tens of razor-sharp spikes for teeth as she spoke again.

_A **n d** d **o w** n   w i l **l   c o** m e   b **a b** y   c r **a d l e   a n** d   a l l_

Obi-Wan didn’t even scream as Abeloth flicked her spiny finger, sending Obi-Wan flying to the ground at their feet with a sickening thud, accompanied by rasping chuckle that tore through Plo and Quinlan’s shock.

“Obi-Wan!” Quinlan cried, trying to kneel down.

“Vos, no!”

Plo caught Quinlan’s arm before he could. “It could be a trap, do not fall for it.”

“Is that what this is, Abeloth?” Quinlan yelled up at her, his eyes darting back to Obi-Wan’s unmoving form. “Are you trying drive us mad so you can have him and us? It won’t work!”

**_H_ ** _e   i **s** m i **n e**_

The voice was just as painful to hear spoken, the teeth gnashing with each word.

“Abeloth, he is not yours.” Plo spoke evenly and diplomatically. “You have abducted him from the Jedi.”

**_H_ ** _e   i **s   m** y   f a **m** i l **y**_

“He is not your family and never will be.” Plo’s words cut harshly through the air. “You have tortured him enough.”

Abeloth laughed in earnest this time, an ugly screeching sound that made them cover their ears. It sounded as if metal were being scraped together. Vines shot out of the ground and wrapped around Obi-Wan’s motionless form, tightening around him while small spiked protrusions pressed into his skin. Quinlan surged forward, struggling out of Plo’s grip, as blood oozed from the new wounds. Only a weak, muffled keen was the response Obi-Wan gave.

“Let him go, Abeloth!” Quinlan cried. “What could you want from him that you haven’t already taken?!”

The vines loosened their hold on Obi-Wan as Abeloth manipulated them, lifting Obi-Wan off of the ground to leave him there, levitating. Here they could plainly see the gaping hole in Obi-Wan’s abdomen amid the blood and dirt stained shreds of his tunic. Quinlan started to move forward again toward him but Plo held him back.

“Wait.” Plo watched Obi-Wan’s form carefully. “Watch.”

Obi-Wan didn’t move. His form was nearly skeletal, his legs and arms easily hidden in the tunic and pants that acted more like drapery than clothing. His face was gaunt, dried blood caking Obi-Wan’s chin and under his nose, his face hollow and skeletal and cocked to the side, cheekbones standing out starkly against the dark, sunken eyes that opened to reveal bright yellow irises where blue-grey should have been. They were glazed over, the brightness morphing to a dull sheen quickly. His hair had grown at an accelerated rate, leaving him looking haggard with a disorganized mop of hair on his head instead of the spiked buzz cut a Padawan would wear and a ragged beard framing his face. His head and his body twitched as he seemed to come into awareness for a split second, fear passing over his expression in a flinch of movement before it was replaced with the same, calm facade.

“…Obi-Wan?” Quinlan asked warily.

He was interrupted by a shriek that sounded more avian than human, a heart-wrenching cry from Obi-Wan as spasms took over him where he levitated. It was obvious that he tried to fight whatever was happening to him, but the cries turned to screams as Obi-Wan’s limbs contorted into unnatural angles, forced to hold his arms behind his back farther than they could stretch.

_“Fulya shotun, Tanam!”_

Quinlan didn’t recognize the gibberish words Obi-Wan yelled, ducking his head to avoid the sand. He could tell Plo hadn’t moved, the sand burnishing the metal surfaces on his face. Abeloth only chuckled again, that grating sound that wracked his ears. Quinlan could see that her tentacles shivered, though he couldn’t tell if she was enjoying the spectacle or not. Her teeth gnashed together and a forked tongue licked at nearly nonexistent lips.

“Master Plo?” He tried, tapping his shoulder to no avail. “Master?”

The mask and eye covers hid most of Plo’s expression, but what he could see was unbridled terror as Plo began to walk forward toward Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan repeated the words he couldn’t understand, holding his arms out in a childlike manner. A twisted smile graced Obi-Wan’s features unfittingly.

“What are you doing to him?!” Quinlan yelled up at Abeloth, shielding his eyes against the sand. “What’s going on?!”

**_H_ ** _e **h a** s   m **o r** e   p **o** w e **r   t h** a n   y o **u,   c h** i l d,a n **d   I** w i **l l** h **a** v e   i **t**_

“Mou…” Plo breathed, his voice becoming unnaturally gentle as he slipped into Kel-Dorin, slow and careful footsteps dragging through the sand beneath his feet. “Mou, Val, please…come inside. Come inside...”

Quinlan grasped onto Plo’s wrist for dear life even as he struggled to free himself and approach Obi-Wan, as if an automaton. He wouldn’t let Plo get sucked into Abeloth’s trick, whatever it was, resorting to pushing back on the broad, sturdy chest as the robotic walking motions never ceased. Plo kept trying to walk towards Obi-Wan, who kept smiling and holding his arms out. Quinlan reached out to shake Plo’s shoulder, but when his fingers brushed one of the fangs of Plo’s mask by accident, he was thrust into a memory that physically hurt to witness. Vivid and detailed in its intensity, the memories of a species with superior brain power, Quinlan had never encountered a memory so clear. Even Abeloth’s, muddled with time and emotional upheaval as they were, weren’t as crystalline.

_“Come play, Papa!” Mou shouted, smiling and jumping up and down._

_Little Mou and Val, standing there at the foot of a short welun tree he decorated his office with, teemed with energy that he could feel through their bond. Val was already as tall as the shortest branches, while little Mou still stood small by their sister’s side, fingers curled in the fabric of  sister’s robes._

_“Yes…of course.” He replied easily, looking out the window at the beautiful red sky, the artificial sun lamps hovering over the Baran-Do Sages Complex bathing the low stone buildings in light. “It is a wonderful day, is it not? The wind spirits have blessed us this day.”_

_Something in that moment hit him. He had the strangest feeling, as he rose from his desk cluttered with scrolls and texts, that he shouldn’t go outside. Whether it was instinct or a ripple in the Force or something else entirely, he was sure the warning was genuine. Searching, he found no cause for the alarm. Only the working day shifts in emotion from his fellow Sages, contentment from his partner, Pel, and constrained excitement from his children. All normal._

_“I am sorry, little ones, I have work to be done by tonight.” He sighed. “Maybe we can play later.”_

_“Okay.” Both replied in unison. They understood, even at such a young age, the work a Sage had to do. “We’ll be outside in the courtyard!”_

_“Do not go too far.” He called after them._

_Those words rang in his ears, even as he settled down to meditate, until they felt like a klaxon shrieking, deafening him, deafening…_

_Too far, too far, Tanam, Tanam, Tanam-_

_“Tanam!”_

_Val was crying out to him through their bond._

_His eyes flew open and he scrambled to the window of his office, eyes widening in dawning horror. The red sky darkened and an opaque wall seemed to appear out of nowhere on the horizon, painting the already dim planet in dread. Artificial lights extinguished as the wall seemed to come closer rapidly, a dull roar that picked up volume with the speed of the approaching wind._

_None of the weather forecasts made by the Sages had predicted a sandstorm that day._

_“Mou! Val! Go inside now!” He thought to both of them._

_“We’re lost!” Mou and Val cried through their bond. “Help us, Papa!”_

_“Where are you?!”_

_“We don’t know, we wanted to play in the desert!”_

_He winced. They weren’t to play in the desert, he’d told them that. Now there was no way he could reach them in time without being throttled by sand and dying without having found his daughters. Those he reached with his mind were unwilling to risk their lives for them, leaving his heart twisted in agonized panic. As the sands of Dorin began to batter the buildings in which everyone cowered, including himself in his cowardice, he could only watch as the protective metal grating slid down over the windows automatically, blocking out the sight of the impending storm. He kept his mind linked to theirs as strongly as he could._

_“Papa, the sand hurts my eyes!”_

_“Focus on me, little ones, focus!”_

_“It hurts, it hurts, I can’t breathe-!”_

_He heard twin screams ring out into the silence of the room, even though he knew they were in his mind alone._

_\-----_

Quinlan was thrown out of the memory, though this time he felt he had to go back or else this wouldn’t stop. He, too, could hear the harsh screeching and the whistling wind in his ears, pressing back against Plo’s torso. Obi-Wan’s voice called out to them, hoarse and grating, and Plo still seemed to oblige. He stopped in his tracks.

“No…” Plo sounded as if his teeth were gritted. “Stop…”

Quinlan felt the rage rise in Plo before it manifested and he found himself pressed to the ground, his windpipe crushed between pointed fingers. He couldn’t see his eyes but Quinlan was sure the silver eyes under the covers were now gold as he struggled out of the grip once again and rolled away gasping. A bright blue light sparked into existence as Plo ignited his saber.

“Oh, kriff…” Quinlan breathed. “Nope, not being killed by a Jedi today either.”

He jumped before the swing could hit its mark, landing on nimble feet a few paces away. This time, Plo controlled his combat with all the skill of a Jedi Master. Quinlan dodged and weaved and tripped over tree roots that conveniently seemed to spring up from the sand, Plo following behind him with ease in familiar terrain. He struggled to get close enough to Plo, but a small opening gave him one small moment to pull the saber to him, hitch it to his belt, and restrain Plo’s arms behind him.

“Okay, old man, it’s just me, it’s Quinlan, I’m trying to help.”

He knew he wasn’t as good at diplomatic talk as Obi-Wan or Plo were, but he had to try. Forcing Plo to his knees meant it was easier to restrain him where he struggled, the mask not hiding an almost feral hiss, one he could tell was more out of self-defense than anger. The fangs to his mask twitched and Quinlan was almost reminded of a muzzled loth cat. The Kel-Dor, outside the Jedi, were quite a defensive and sometimes ruthless species with their vigilante justice and polarized morality, he learned that much from his xenoanthropology courses. He knew Abeloth would use that inborn propensity to her advantage, turning him more like his non-Force sensitive brethren, and swore under his breath before looking back up.

“Hey, easy, easy, you did this for me before in the house, remember? I think Abeloth’s got her telepathic hands on you and she’s making you relive some nasty stuff. You gotta fight it, Plo, come on, I’ll help you…”

He placed the free hand not restraining Plo’s wrists on the side of his head where he knew the telepathic centers lay. He needed to get into Plo’s mind and he knew how he could bypass his shields. Focusing on his own telepathy, he tried to slide into memories instead of having them come to him, which he found to be a lot harder to manage. Plo’s shielding was strong, but he found ways in as was his wont. Quinlan found the section of memories being assaulted only to find them being wrestled with, as if thrown around in a fight. Quinlan felt their telepathic link spin, in as much as it could, much the same way he felt in the house.

_“Murderer…murderer…”_

_“Help me…please, just help me find them…help me bring them home.” He pleaded to the Sages through their telepathic link, the sands burning under his knees._

_No answer._

_“Murderer…murderer…”_

Quinlan grit his teeth and tried to focus, bolstering Plo’s shielding as best he could without Mind Healer training. Memories came at him with force, unwittingly thrusting him into them.

_His talons bled blue, the viscous gel mixing into the dark sand as the evening waned into night._

_“Mou, Val, where are you?”_

_“You won’t find them, they’re gone…”_

_“They’re gone, gone gone gone gone-“_

_Rough hands pulled him away from the desert after some time in a daze, dragged him back to the Sages’ complex, and forced an intoxicant down his throat to calm him down. Then they brought him to one of the meditation rooms and tossed him inside without care. He shuddered in the small space, as tears didn’t come for those born of the desert, and tried to gather his wits enough to go through with his punishment._

_Exile, as per Kel-Dor custom. He had no future on Dorin, just as Mou and Val no longer did. Eyes for eyes._

_“Someone will kill me if I stay. I am so, so sorry that I must leave you.”_

_Hands pressed against the sides of his head. Foreheads touched in an intimate gesture. They stayed that way for minutes before Pel spoke, words hushed and shaking._

_“I know. Go and become a Jedi as your family does. Save others, do what you could not for the children.”_

_Dark clothing under his worn robes showed his grief. His hood shadowed his silvery eyes. The Koon family was notable worldwide, he wouldn’t draw attention to them._

_“Where are you headed, traveler?”_

_“To Coruscant.”_

_“Any return trip for you?”_

_“No.”_

Quinlan found no space in the memories that was untouched. Even when Plo started to recite the Code mentally, the words seemed interspersed with painful memories, forcing what was a comfort to most Jedi into that of sheer hell. The dark side energy seemed to radiate here more than ever as Quinlan tried doubly hard to help Plo rebuild his strength.

_“There is no emotion, there is peace…”_

_He eyed the offworld mask and eye covers he owned on the ship’s quarters’ dresser. It was outdated, an old model the ships offered for travelers as a nicety. Picking up the cold durasteel, the weight in his hands made his sensitive fingers ache and throb as the damaged flesh protested. He wanted to hurt, in many ways, but found his reaction was nothing but cruel, neutral acceptance of his fate. Grief poured over him in waves as he settled on the thin, uncomfortable bunk._

_“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge…”_

_He affixed the mask to his mouth and slotted the eye covers over his eyes with shudders, hiding his face from view with a hiss of mechanical activation. The durasteel dug into his flesh uncomfortably, the sensation of the mask almost gagging with how it molded around his mouth and how the eye covers molded into his skin. He couldn’t complain, as Mou and Val were suffocated with the sands of Dorin. He couldn’t deny it, yet he wanted to do just that._

_“There is no passion, there is serenity…”_

_He had stayed inside, valued his self-preservation more than multiple lives, and this was his penance for being selfish on a world that fostered kindness when nature was so harsh and unforgiving. But why was he the one to be at fault? The others could have done more!_

_“There is no chaos, there is harmony…”_

_The screams wouldn’t stop as his footsteps brought him to the Temple entrance, sensing his children’s spirits following behind him like they had never left his side at all._

_“There is no death, there is the Force…”_

_Visions of dead bodies lay in an arena of stone, battles fought, space debris, his children laying in sand-_

_Screaming, screaming, screaming-_

The pain and anguish flowed as Quinlan emerged from the memories with a jolt that bordered on painful as Plo bowed over with his forehead touching the ground, heedless of his injured arm. Even with hundreds of years of training and discipline, Plo seemed to have fallen under Abeloth’s spell just as easily as the memories wracked him. Rage bubbled in Quinlan and filled his veins as he tried to sit Plo upright with one hand, raising his saber with the other. He wanted to hurt Obi-Wan, even if it wasn’t truly his fault, just to get this to stop. Plo’s form started to shudder dangerously, frozen in place as he uttered incomprehensible words in Kel-Dorin. Obi-Wan’s wraith-like fascimile was shrieking with mirth and Quinlan had to remind himself forcibly that he was just as much a victim here as the two of them were, if not more so. He turned to Plo, shaking his shoulders rather roughly, then moved his hands to the cold durasteel of his mask.

“Come on, Master Plo, we can’t get Obi-Wan out of here if you stay like this!” Quinlan whispered. “You can save him, you can save Obi-Wan…he’s alive! Mou and Val aren’t coming back, but Obi-Wan is right here, just focus on me, not her and not the desert. You dragged me out of that Sith damned house, so I’ll repay the favor…”

There was no telling if Plo was truly aware of his surroundings or not yet due to the coverings on his face, but the trembling and shuddering hadn’t ceased and he couldn’t reach Plo’s mind when probing for it. He recognized the feeling of being shut out of one’s mind intentionally, which was a good sign at least, continuing to talk even while Abeloth and Obi-Wan laughed in the background. Obi-Wan surged forward, running at them with no care for Quinlan’s raised lightsaber or his own safety. Quinlan defended Plo, rising up from where he knelt to stand in front of the hunched over figure, but found his saber struggled to stay in his hand. It flew to Obi-Wan’s hand instead, igniting red despite the crystal housed inside.

“Obi-Wan…give that back.” Quinlan’s voice stayed even and calm, even if it was a poor mimicry of his normal aloof nature. “Please.”

“No.”

Obi-Wan twitched and laughed a keening and echoing, harsh bark, wavering where he stood.

\------

_Screaming…screaming-_

_Plo noticed the moment the screams morphed into laughter and broke his concentration on his shielding for the briefest moment._

He opened his eyes to find himself kneeling on the ground, his ears ringing and his head spinning. He was physically weakened by Abeloth’s attempt at control, he knew, and could only watch as Quinlan evaded sloppy combat from Obi-Wan.

Plo slowly rose to his feet, stumbling on the shifting sand, and feeling for his saber but found it missing, clutched in Obi-Wan’s hand. Obi-Wan seemed to notice his presence and charged, both sabers raised. Plo dodged the attacks that followed, though not without difficulty. Even the forms Obi-Wan was not physically suited for he attempted, switching from Vaapad to Soresu to even crude Shii-Cho before he settled on Makashi. The meaning wasn’t lost on Quinlan. He could see that Obi-Wan couldn’t actually fight properly as the thrusts were shaky, graceless, and ineffective, the stamina and concentration for the form nonexistent. Neither Plo nor Quinlan were willing to fight, not when Obi-Wan wasn’t in his own mind nor physically strong enough to hold his own.

“You’ll have to do better, Abeloth, he can’t fight us the way you’re controlling him!” Quinlan taunted, light on his feet. “He’s been trained in the ways of a Jedi Knight and yet you control him as if he were an infant! For a demigod, you’re not very good at this, are you?”

“Vos, do not make her angrier!” Plo yelled from nearer to the trees at the outer rim of the clearing, dodging on weakened feet and leaping away from Obi-Wan’s weaker attacks. “We need to get Obi-Wan out of here. He cannot handle the mental strain for much longer!”

“I know what I’m doing!” Quinlan looked over his shoulder, smiling even if it was a wan fascimile of his usual grin. “You said _they_ would help us, right? Might as well give _them_ some reason to hurry up!”

In this way they kept up their macabre dance for who knew how long, Quinlan or Plo dodging the sloppy blows Obi-Wan tried to deal between the both of them. His footwork remained unstable and shaky, though there had been an attempt to up his finesse with the weapons. Still, it was clear that Obi-Wan wasn’t going to hit either of them and Abeloth seethed behind them, watching on passively with disgust showing on her hidden face. Spiked teeth gnashed and tentacles writhed in frustration.

**_S t o p_ **

Obi-Wan stilled in the sand that seemed to pile around them, standing still. Obi-Wan’s face flashed back to that panicked look, seemingly aware for a split second, though when he tried to speak only blood dribbled from his cracked lips along with stuttered syllables that could have resembled speech if he weren’t in such severe mental and physical overstimulation.

“No no no no no no-“ He stammered, trembling where he stood.

_I   a **m   b o r** e d   o f   t **h i s**_

A smile graced Obi-Wan’s skeletal features that unsettled Plo deeply as it wasn’t a manic grin so much as a content, peaceful one.

_H **e   i** s   s **o   w e** a k   a **n** d   s **o   a** r e   y o **u   m u** r d **e** r e r_

Obi-Wan’s yellow eyes glinted and fixed on Plo’s. He laughed in a hollow mockery of his normal laugh.

_T r **y   a n** d   s **a v** e   h i m   n o **w**_

Obi-Wan stabbed Plo’s saber straight through his chest, above the hole caused by the vine, laughing the whole time as the blue blade pierced his pale body, crumpling to the ground. The laughter died into choked hiccups, though the smile never left.

“Obi-Wan!”

Static filled Plo’s ears as he tried not to sink back into his flashbacks, feeling distinctly lightheaded as he caught Obi-Wan’s head before it could hit a particularly sharp looking root that stuck out of the ground. Quinlan knelt to check for Obi-Wan’s pulse only to find that it was slowing, thready and weak.

“I am sorry, Obi-Wan…” Plo muttered as he took in Obi-Wan’s state fully.  

Slowly, the yellow of Obi-Wan’s eyes returned to a familiar dull blue, red-rimmed and puffy eyes sunken and pitiful. It was clear that whatever energy he’d had before had been lost, yet still she kept him alive.

“N-Nnnn…” Obi-Wan tried before coughing roughly, gazing up at him before making an attempt to squirm that proved fruitless. Fear and panic lanced through their bond, making Plo wince, before the waves of dread and hurt washed over him. Blood touched at the corner of his lips, which Quinlan wiped away without a thought.

“Hush.” Quinlan petted Obi-Wan’s dirty hair gently, laced with Force suggestion, before looking back at Plo with something bordering on panic in his eyes. “Are _they_ coming?”

“I do not know, Vos.” Plo ceded. “They are not under my control.”

“Please…” Blue eyes clouded with tears as the body in his arms began to shake violently, the word gasped as injured lungs struggled to work. “P-Please, let m-me die…“

Plo used his own Force healing abilities to keep Obi-Wan alive, if only just. Quinlan cradled Obi-Wan carefully to avoid spinal injury.

“I cannot do that, Obi-Wan.” Plo answered gently.

“And I won’t.” Quinlan added.

Plo placed his hands on his head, concentrating. Obi-Wan stared up at both of them with the eyes, Plo knew, of someone who had accepted his death long ago. Quinlan watched as Plo inhaled and exhaled, remembering teachings from centuries before. Using one of the techniques from the Baran-Do, he slipped Obi-Wan into deep unconsciousness. It seemed to work until Obi-Wan’s breath seemed to stop altogether.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan’s fear began to rise once more as he tried gently gauging his pulse with a finger to his throat. “Plo!”

“I did the technique right, Vos. I practiced it countless times. That means…”

Plo pressed fingers to Obi-Wan’s temple. Obi-Wan’s frail body seemed unresponsive, yet there was still a faint sign of life in his mind. Plo turned back to Abeloth, standing protectively in front of Obi-Wan and Quinlan, staring up at her visage. She sneered and gestured her tentacles to Obi-Wan’s body.

_H e   i **s   d e** a d_

“You are deceiving us!” Plo shouted upwards.

_I   d **o   n** o t   **l i e**_

Plo felt a surge in the Light, one that felt utterly stronger than anything that could exist on this planet.

“I suppose it does not matter.”

Light washed over the desolate monochrome landscape as a figure emerged out of thin air. Her green hair flowed behind her, trailing out far down her back. Beside her, a taller, more sullen figure accompanied her with a scowl.

 _Mother._ The Daughter interjected. _We have come to put you back in your place._

Abeloth reared back and bared her teeth at them, shifting down into the form of a young girl, likely not even a Padawan, her lekku seemingly pockmarked with signs of damage as she looked over at Plo and Quinlan.

“Please…” Abeloth begged. “Don’t let them do this.”

Plo’s heart broke as he realized this girl must have been one of Abeloth’s victims, pulled from the Temple before she could grow. The yellowed eyes were wrong, vile, and unfitting of such innocence, though. He looked away with a growl.

 _You are no mortal now, let alone a child._ The Son approached her. _Come with us._

“We can be happy again, can’t we?” Abeloth asked him with a cold smile. “You know I love you.”

 _The galaxy is not safe with you free._ The Daughter laid a hand gently on Plo’s shoulder, watching her. _Come with us or we will force you._

“No! No, he’s mine!”

Abeloth morphed into a hideous avian creature, the one Plo recognized from his studies. She grabbed Obi-Wan in one of her talons and flew off with him, screeching in victory. The two Jedi were left stunned and frozen to where they were, though the Son and Daughter weren’t fazed in the slightest. They turned to convene silently between themselves and then faced Plo and Quinlan once more.

_Hurry, we must stop Mother!_

The Daughter took hold of Quinlan’s hand and teleported the both of them away. The Son idled behind, watching where the two vanished with interest.

“We must follow them!” Plo growled. “What are you waiting for?”

_It is so tiresome, this cycle of imprisoning Mother and having her escape over and over…_

The Son looked back at him with a wan smile.

_The balance of the Force stands upon the edge of a knife, Jedi. It fluctuates to and fro and Mother is freed if it falls. What if that knife was removed altogether? Would she die, you think?_

Plo wasn’t sure whether to be on guard or not but his decision was made when the Son took his hand and vanished out of sight.

\-----

Abeloth landed right where she intended, the body in her arms limp and growing colder with each moment, though not with death. She panicked at that realization, shifting into a larger form and held Obi-Wan in her insectoid arms with the delicacy of a mother with her infant child. She knew her children would arrive soon to stop her, they would know of this place well. It was the only way she could keep this fallen Jedi for herself. There lay far more power in the young Jedi if given time to heal and recover from her experiments. She needed his spirit strong, not as weak as he had let himself become under her hand.

This was all her plan, after all.

She couldn’t recruit others if they were to waste away in front of their colleagues’ eyes, doomed to such a fate. Perhaps in numbers, they could hide. Their delusions validated, they would know nothing was wrong. En masse, they would overthrow the Jedi entirely and then feed her need for souls to take willingly. This one Jedi, though… to keep him forever as a pet sounded good. Something to keep her company in prison, a broken beast of burden too damaged for the Jedi to take back.

The Pool appeared to Abeloth where she left it, in a small alcove away from where the Font bubbled up from the ground. It was decrepit and moistened with mold and mildew everywhere aside from the pool itself, which was crystal-clear with glimmering gems at the bottom, ones the Jedi now regarded as sacred. She remembered the place well as part of her original home here. Ornate spires of rock held the vast caverns upright and light shone in from the moon and stars above. That was the view Abeloth saw upon going to sleep every evening, long ago, and she imagined it now, walking up the stone steps to the Pool’s surface.

“The water feels so good, my pet…” She crooned to the still body in her arms, cradling him gingerly. “You’ll love it. It’s warm and calm and will help you feel better…”

To simply set Obi-Wan into the water would certainly mean he’d drown, so Abeloth opted to slowly wade into the shallow water, feeling the power she held be restored to her in ways that she’d forgotten she could feel as she shrunk to a more manageable size, taking the form of the Jedi’s target of affection. She took joy in knowing that if he were to awaken, Obi-Wan would panic at the sight of Qui-Gon Jinn. If she could not have love and affection, then others would suffer.

_Mother!_

Abeloth turned her head around on its axis, growling dangerously as her Daughter and one of the frightened Jedi appeared near the bank. Quinlan looked toward the Daughter, clearly worried.

“What do we do now?! Where’s Plo? And she’s-“

_I believe they are coming, do not worry. She is Abeloth, not your dead Jedi. Remember that._

“Obi-Wan is mine and I’m his Master, don’t you see? I love him as he loves me.” Abeloth grinned and Qui-Gon Jinn’s body had sharp needles for teeth for a split second, piercing the lips and staining them red with blood. “Let him swim or let him die. Your choice.”

“You little kriffing-!” Quinlan started forward but the Daughter blocked his path. “How dare you torture him! Qui-Gon would never have treated him that way.”

_Do not antagonize Mother if you want your friend returned to you._

“My daughter is right, Jedi.” Abeloth began to lower herself into the Pool, taking Obi-Wan with her, but stopped at Qui-Gon’s knees. “I can feel my grip loosening.”

_Mother…there is no point appealing to you. Let him go or I will use force to have you acquiesce._

“Ha! You can’t do anything without your brother around, can you? He’s not here.” Abeloth twirled around in the water idly, Qui-Gon’s hair fanning out around him. “He was always the stronger one…I liked him better.”

_Your taunts do not faze me after all this time. Let him go._

“Why should I? There’s nothing for me to gain from surrender.” Abeloth spit in her direction and smiled when her Son and the masked Jedi appeared.

_Mother, what are you doing?_

“Oh, come now, my son, I need not explain this place to you.” Abeloth flashed her needle teeth, shifting the body in her arms as black blood dropped onto the stained tunic Obi-Wan wore. “I need not explain my position here.”

_You cannot turn him into you, Mother. He will not stay with you, he will kill you if you try._

“He can’t!” Abeloth cackled. “I am immortal, I’ve taken care of him, and I’m the only one he trusts! He has nothing but me!”

“Yes he does, Abeloth.” Quinlan growled. “He has me.” 

“He has the support of the Jedi, whether he wants it or not. That has not changed. It was your manipulation that convinced him to leave us.” Plo replied coolly. “You, however, truly have nothing and you cannot live with the knowledge that someone else does not have to suffer.”

Abeloth’s fury seemed to rise in power but then it was schooled into an eerie calmness as Qui-Gon’s eyes flashed yellow in the dim lighting. His robes billowed in the water, where Obi-Wan’s body dangled mere inches from the surface.

“I am the beginning and end.” Abeloth spoke, Qui-Gon’s deep voice echoing off of the walls. “’I will give unto you that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely.’ Your father once told me that and he never kept his promise, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I think a swim is a bit easier than a drink, in this case.”

_Mother, no!_

Obi-Wan’s body fell from Abeloth’s arms as she vanished, dropping into the Pool of Knowledge with a dull splash, sinking below the surface and out of sight.

To the group’s surprise, Plo was the first one to act, his shocked and worried expression hidden behind his mask as he jumped for the water.

“Obi-Wan!”

_Leave him, Jedi!_

The Son held him back as the Daughter morphed into an elegant swan-like beast, not unlike the form Abeloth took, but this time filled with Light in her feathers and delicate features.

_Brother, retrieve the Jedi!_

She took off in flight up in the vaulted cave ceiling which morphed to fit her form and out of sight into the darkness. The Son raced to the edge of the Pool and dove in while Plo and Quinlan were frozen to their spots. They watched as the surface of the water stilled for what felt like minutes on end. Time felt stretched on Homeworld and it was excruciating for both to wait when there weren’t any bubbles coming up to the surface.

“I-Is he-?“ Quinlan stammered.

“I do not know.” Plo answered hastily. “I cannot read his signs while he is in the Pool. It feels…as if Obi-Wan no longer exists, at least not in the living world. I no longer have any connection to him.”

“Then…we’ll have to wait.” Quinlan’s voice wavered. “We have to wait.”

“Yes.”

Plo and Quinlan knelt on the ground to wait, falling to their knees in exhaustion and anxiety, watching the Pool’s surface go still. They tried to contain their shared thought that, just maybe, this whole mission had failed, that Obi-Wan was lost to them forever.

\-----

_Obi-Wan felt as if syrup was clogging his lungs as soon as he breathed in. Still, he felt himself float through the void he now found himself in, panicked and scared as the Darkness gave chase. Clumsy limbs would not let him get far before he was caught. Tendrils wrapped around his arms and legs, staining them nearly black. Slowly, they inched their way up, suspending him by all fours. Obi-Wan fought, writhing sharply in the grasp. His calls and shouts heralded no sound, though a figure bathed in red, warming light greeted him._

_“Hello?” He asked warily feeling his lungs choke with the question._

_“You cannot fight this on your own.” The figure soothed. “You are not strong enough in body or mind. It will kill or corrupt you, and the latter is not your path to take.”_

_“Wh-What do I do, then?”_

_“Let me take the Darkness from you. It is my nature, not yours.”_

_Obi-Wan nodded and felt fear envelop him as the figure approached him, laid his hands on the tentacles that twisted around his limbs, and spoke a language he didn’t know. It didn’t sound like anything spoken anywhere in the galaxy._

_His eyes turned bright white and shone like lamps through the thick darkness, light emerging from his open mouth as he screamed soundlessly. Burst of images flashed before his eyes, things that had not yet happened leaving as soon as they arrived to his mind. He couldn’t cope with how much was being forced into his mind, though the figure never stopped speaking its foreign language. Soon, Obi-Wan couldn’t focus on the unfamiliar words, the pain in his head taking over._

_He could see the future. He **was** seeing the future._

_The figure focused on his face, though his own vision was blurring with mental exhaustion._

_“You will live with the pain of precognition, Obi-Wan Kenobi, as Mother has cursed you irreparably. I apologize. However, you will not be corrupted as she was. To resist the Darkness this long as a mortal is not easily done.”_

_“I…I…”_

_“Sleep now, let your weary body rest. You have life left in you yet.”_

_Obi-Wan felt Force suggestion more powerful than any he’d encountered before take over him._

_He slept._

\-----

“Plo, look!”

Quinlan was pointing to the Pool, where bright light shone up from the depths.

It felt like several minutes, possibly an hour had passed before the Son emerged, Obi-Wan in tow in his arms. He laid Obi-Wan on the grimy ground beneath them, looking up at the two and nodded towards them. Quinlan scrambled over, rolling Obi-Wan’s body onto his side to expel the water in his lungs. Luckily, and rather puzzlingly, there was none to be found. Quinlan simply whispered to the body in his arms, likely calming and comforting sentiments from what Plo could gather.

He knew that for all of Quinlan’s aloof nature, he truly cared deeply for those he loved. Plo wasn’t going to take that love he felt for Obi-Wan from the young Knight upon returning to the Temple, so he wouldn’t tell the Council. He watched as Quinlan bent his head to press his forehead against Obi-Wan’s and it was then that he knew for certain that the both of them had been hiding the truth of their attachment for years under the guise of friendship, that Quinlan’s words had been genuine. He had felt love like that long ago.

The Son turned to him and Plo let Quinlan have his privacy.

_I protected Obi-Wan Kenobi from both drowning and the corruption that he faced. The marks on his skin are permanent._

The Son turned to gesture to Obi-Wan’s arms and legs, where the skin had turned a sickly dark green, close to black, in spiraling veined patterns that disappeared up the sleeves and pants that he wore. It was clear that some of the marks resembled that of the unhealed, diseased wounds that Obi-Wan wore. Now they were permanent etchings, a reminder of Abeloth’s cruelty and abuse. Plo’s heart throbbed at the thought.

_I can send you back to your home, but be wary…Obi-Wan touched the Pool of Knowledge. He will be forever plagued with visions and premonitions stronger than any Jedi can experience. His time in the Pool was short, however, and was not enough to turn him entirely. That was why I could fight back the darkness at all. He has touched it, however, and will bear its effects for the rest of his life._

“Understood.” Plo massaged his lobes, the stress of the situation wearing on him. “We need to be returned to the Temple on Coruscant if we are to save Obi-Wan. Is there still a chance for him?”

The Son looked over to Quinlan, who cradled Obi-Wan’s sodden body in his arms. Obi-Wan’s breathing had become shallow and labored, his emaciated body shuddering convulsively, but the fact that he was breathing at all gave both Jedi a sense of relief. He nodded kindly and spoke to both this time.

_He shall live. It is not yet his time to die._

“And Abeloth? What about her? Is she gonna be locked up again?” Quinlan held Obi-Wan tighter in his arms.

_We have jailed Mother for millennia. It is our natural cycle and not your place to worry about the Force. Worry only for the lives you live before you rejoin with it._

Plo nodded and settled beside Quinlan and Obi-Wan where they knelt on the ground. He felt something like the cold feeling he’d felt in the spirits’ prison wash over him. It was more intense, more like a pressure pressing into his body for a split second. He could only assume that Qui-Gon had found his time to escape and had joined with his body to do so. They had to leave before Abeloth noticed the absence.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi is important to the course of the galaxy. He is one of the Chosen to bring balance to the Force._

“Thank you for your help.” Plo nodded, filing the knowledge away for the moment. “We must leave now.”

_You are welcome, Jedi. Take care and take care of your fallen friend._

Plo and Quinlan blinked out of the dark, grimy chasm, eternally grateful to have escaped the hellish landscape they had been in with Obi-Wan alive.

It was time for Obi-Wan to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Obi-Wan's going home! Phew, I'm happy I can give the guy a break now(Kind of, not really), he's been a punching bag for too long. Abeloth's plan was meant to be rather sloppy, as she wanted to test the bounds of what she could do and what she has to do to be able to recruit more Jedi from the safety of her home. Ultimately I want this to fit in the non-canon Fate of the Jedi series, though not necessarily a prequel, but that's why the canon divergence tag is there.
> 
> Basically, Obi-Wan wasn't so much a punching bag as a guinea pig. All the better.


	8. Tear Down the Walls That Hold Him Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the Temple, Plo gains his absolution, Quinlan's forced to rest on his laurels and contemplates, and Obi-Wan's difficult journey into healing begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I'm still updating this. School's just sucked the life and motivation and energy out of me. Also, this is one of the chapters that had the most writes and rewrites ad nauseam of all. I don't know how to write healing and I actually had a lot of it but I had to pare the chapter down for verbosity's sake. There's only so many times you can write or read the same stuff and yet it all felt so short to my eyes. I split the original chapter into two, so yay, more content after this! I want to get everything finished by the new year, though. I hope everyone's liking everything so far, so now we're into the home stretch!
> 
> For now, have Obi-Wan not quite done hurting! I kinda sorta maybe told a tiny fib but he has to get better, y'know?

Their arrival was not pleasant.

The three felt their entire bodies shift and phase out of reality for a split second before dropping right onto the stone floor of the Temple’s Grand Hall, Plo and Quinlan gasping at the impact. Covered in dirt and breathing hard to compensate for his heated skin, Plo felt the same, familiar cold as Qui-Gon’s spirit left his body with a jolt into the space around them and out of his awareness. His mindfulness was a haze as he shakily lifted himself from the floor feeling detached from reality. Only when he felt Obi-Wan’s pulse stop through the Force did his mind clear and he knew what he had to do.

“Get the Healers here _now._ ” Plo commanded haggardly to the few Jedi who noticed their arrival, his voice not carrying as far as it normally would, but enough for many Jedi to immediately activate their comms. “Knight Vos, emergency aid procedures must be done. Lay him on the floor.”

Quinlan laid Obi-Wan on the polished stone as ordered, then backed away. Plo approached Obi-Wan’s side, scanning the area. On inspection, Obi-Wan wasn’t responsive to the taps he delivered to his sternum. The possibility of a spinal injury as well as the gaping wounds in his torso and abdomen meant that limited immediate care options were available. Typical human resuscitation through physical means wasn’t one of them.

Assuring that the comms in the vicinity wouldn’t affect his technique, Plo laid his hands on Obi-Wan’s clammy skin, one hand gingerly on his collarbone and the other even more carefully under his ribs. Through the Force, along with his own electromagnetic abilities taught by the Sages, he kept Obi-Wan’s heart moving with small electric jolts. His broken arm throbbed in protest, the first sign of his own injury that he even noticed, and ignored it. His mind and body ached painfully with the effort of keeping Obi-Wan alive but it was worth it to feel the weak heartbeat begin beneath his fingers. Jedi began to swarm around them at a safe distance, marveling at the foreign Force technique, as the Kel-Dor Force techniques were rarely seen. Seeing Obi-Wan emaciated and near death in tattered, dirtied clothes and equally scruffy appearance overall also brought confused pity and shock to all around, the conflicting sentiments making their rounds in the Force. Plo ignored the deluge of thought, focusing on where his hands lay. Obi-Wan’s heartbeat was weak and rapid, too weak to survive long without treatment.

“Obi!”

Plo spied Bant pushing her way through the crowd, hastily making her way through with a hover gurney. He was grateful that the wait would be short.

“By the Force…” She breathed quietly, approaching warily as two other apprentices pushed their own gurneys. Her limpid eyes focused on Obi-Wan’s frail form covered in wounds and the strange marks, her expression crumpling in pain. “He’s…is he…?”

“He is alive, Knight Eerin, though….” Plo replied, struggling to complete his thought as his chest tightened. “…though he needs immediate help.”

The crowd murmured in their wake as the Healers loaded Obi-Wan onto the hover gurney and whisked him off to the Halls in a flurry of motion. The other Jedi around began to disperse as Quinlan gazed at his arms blankly where now they lay vacant. Plo stood, swaying dangerously, his strength sapped from him.

“Master Koon…come with us.” One of the Healers frowned, tasked to stay back with an apprentice to care for the two of them. “You too, Vos. Both of you need our assistance.”

“He’s back…we brought Obi-Wan back.” Quinlan whispered to no one in particular.

“We did.” Plo agreed, shutting his eyes as the room spun, the ability to breathe becoming harder and harder. “We did…”

The spinning faded into nothing as hands reached out to catch him.

\-----

Mace stood in the observation deck of the operating theater with his notable stony expression, viewing the surgical procedure below. Quinlan strode into the room quietly after a time, arms folded across his chest. There were bacta bandages plastered all over his skin, but otherwise he was fine.

“How is he, Master?”

“His heart’s stopped twice now.” Mace replied tersely. There was an edge of anxiety that was muffled in the tone.

Quinlan nodded, coming to stand by Mace’s side, watching the emergency surgery. ”We failed him again.”

Mace stood silent, a crease developing between his brows. Judging by the expression, Quinlan thought that Mace agreed with him even if there was no indication that he did at all.

“Is anything going to be done differently this time?” Quinlan’s voice stayed even despite his growing ire.

Mace never looked away from the surgical theater as he kept silent, his thoughts hidden from him.

Quinlan watched with barely hidden anxiety as the droids began to scurry. It was obvious by their actions that Obi-Wan’s vital signs were dropping yet again, defibrillation pads appearing from a hidden box. They were placed where Plo’s hands had been earlier that day and Quinlan realized what Plo had been doing to keep Obi-Wan alive.

“Clear!” An urgent droid voice called out as a shock jolted the frail body on the table.

The monotone of the heart monitor made him shift uncomfortably on his feet, his ears ringing as the images from Plo’s mind bubbled up in him again.

_Murderer…murderer…murderer…_

“Clear!”

_Sand poured through his fingers-_

The monitor still rang out flatly.

_Blood caked on his fingers as he held onto Obi-Wan’s body for dear life-_

“Clear!”

_There is no emotion, there is only peace-_

He looked down to see the blood still caked on and under his nails, seeing red despite the brownish tinge the blood had taken on.

“I didn’t think so.” Quinlan turned toward Mace, his tone positively frigid. “Can’t have peace without ignorance, huh? Breaking your own rules, buddy.”

Quinlan left the observation room with a firm clap of Mace’s shoulder without waiting to hear a response, a cold sensation following behind him until he reached the doorway.

Mace turned toward the viewport, his normal stoicism unshakable, though there was a softness to his expression that few ever witnessed. As much as Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had pushed his buttons on many occasions, he still held sentiment for the two and their stubborn natures. Perhaps, though he’d never admit it to himself, it was because he understood that nature. Nothing would heal unless that stubbornness was broken…or allowed to be broken.

Perhaps he needed to take a leaf from their books and learn to bend the rules a little.

After a tense minute or two, the monitors resumed their weak beeping. Mace let out a breath that he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“You’re in good company, Kenobi.” He muttered. “Even if the company you keep is a bunch of mavericks.”

\----

Quinlan settled down next to Plo on a mat in a communal meditation chamber within the Halls of Healing later that evening after some sparring droids were beaten to a mechanical pulp. Despite not having rested since their time on the ship traveling to Homeworld, Quinlan felt restless and fidgety like he did after any particularly harrowing mission. Still, through the sparring most of that energy was released and he could think a bit more clearly.

While his own condition was fine, Plo seemed to have taken a lot more wear and tear. He wore a temporary breathing apparatus which looked even more complex than the normal mask, a jumble of tubes and rebreathers framed by fangs and the faint outline of what had to be Plo’s mouth and nose through translucent duralastic. Along with the frame holding Plo’s broken arm in place, he looked strangely like a haphazardly dilapidated droid. Quinlan repressed a shudder at the sight, as Kel-Dor appearances weren’t too pleasant to begin with. Plo always took such things in his stride and seemed to ignore the thought if he heard it, however.

“You look like bantha fodder, old man.” He tried for his normal levity, albeit to only partial success.

“Lung damage is not that glamorous, Vos.” Plo replied just as snidely, his voice much quieter than normal without his mask’s vocal amplifiers.

Plo was joking with him, which meant a small, tired smile graced eked its way onto his face.

“Apologies, Master. What happened?”

“It seems I had impacted on Homeworld face-first. My mask had been damaged and I had been breathing in oxygen the entire time. I have to stay in the Halls for a few days to repair the damage and have a new mask shipped from Dorin.”

Quinlan was puzzled, furrowing his brow. He knew Kel-Dor anatomy, just like everyone else after xenobiology lessons, and knew that along with the accelerated time on Homeworld, the length of time Plo had been breathing oxygen should have been impossible.

“Then how-?”

“I didn’t authorize you to leave your bed, Master Koon.”

Healer Che appeared in the doorway to the observation room with a bow. The Jedi masters nodded in return from where they sat.

“What is Obi-Wan’s status?” Plo asked insistently, making sure no argument could be made in his tone.

Che sighed and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “The damage is extensive. The first, older wound went right through his digestive tract, which means he’ll have trouble eating for some time. That will only complicate his severe malnutrition, exacerbated during his time offworld. The second, newer one entered close to the heart. At least the damage was restricted to his lungs, but it left his breathing and heart activity erratic. Added to that are a vast assortment of minor injuries, most of which are on the verge of infection from the lack of sanitary care. From the looks of it…whatever did this wanted him alive. Alive and…suffering.”

“His prognosis?” Plo continued, not letting the weight of that realization sink in yet.

“Master Koon, there isn’t one.” Che laughed nervously. “The Healers and the droids are having difficulty healing the more severe wounds. Thankfully, bacta seems to be effective in combating gangrene around the minor ones but the severe damage itself is more difficult to fix. The severe wounds have properties that slow or reverse healing, which we’ve been combating to the best of our abilities. Whatever was keeping him alive is still doing so, but it’s not allowing the injuries to heal as a result.”

“Keep working, then. Any improvement is good at this point.” Quinlan turned his gaze toward Plo, garnering a nod in agreement.

“He’s lost all heart activity several times. We’ve had to switch to droids for resuscitation because it takes so long to get Obi-Wan’s pulse back.” Che’s face fell. “I cannot say that he’ll survive with certainty but the fact that he’s come back more than once now is a testament to his strength. The Force is strong in him.”

“Something like that, certainly.” Quinlan looked hesitantly towards Plo, quickly figuring out what saved Plo’s life as well.

“At least two more surgeries are scheduled for him, should he survive this one. This one is simply to remove the dead tissue from the minor wounds and prevent gangrene.” Che explained. “The other two will be to start finding treatment for and closure of the bigger wounds to his abdomen and chest. If the Force allows, he should be in recovery solely within two to three days.”

“Thank you, Healer Che.” Plo nodded in approval. He’d have to be content with the bleak news he received. “You’ll keep us informed?”

“Of course. I must return to the surgical theater soon and you, Master Koon, need to return to your bed soon, as well.”

Plo cocked his head in unspoken flippancy, the barest hint of a Kel-Dor smile showing through the misted-over mask. Che just rolled her eyes again, turning for the exit.

“Kel-Dor make the worst patients, by the Force.” She sighed. “Just make sure you call a Healer if you have any problems.”

“I will.”

Healer Che stepped out of the room and that left the two of them alone. Quinlan waited a few moments before speaking.

“So…whatever power Abeloth had that kept Obi-Wan alive had also extended to you.” He continued. “She wanted you alive as much as she did Obi-Wan.”

Plo shrugged, however, indicating that he held little certainty. “She was masking the symptoms of my oxygen poisoning, which meant she didn’t want me to know I was at a disadvantage. Abeloth had tried to weaken me, clearly, in a failed attempt to gain control of the encounter, much as your encounter in the house had been. She was using our weaknesses, physical or otherwise, against us the entire time. She wanted us to submit but knew I had more power and control, so I am led to assume that she tried to even the battlefield to start with.”

Quinlan mulled that over and nodded. It sounded perfectly like her wretched way, to divide and weaken and conquer. Lure Obi-Wan, a weakened Jedi she possessed to Homeworld, torture him to within an inch of his life, and then lure other Jedi to her with the bait and weaken them, too. The only mystery was why she would do such a thing. The hidden shock on Plo’s face after a few minutes told Quinlan that he’d come to the same conclusion.

“She had no intention of killing Obi-Wan to begin with.” Plo replied quietly. “Abeloth is not unintelligent. If she wanted a Jedi, she would have been swift in killing him or would have taken a wayward spirit in the Force. She would not have toyed with him as she did.”

“So you mean to tell me that Obi-Wan went through all of that for nothing but show?!” Quinlan’s voice raised dangerously.

Plo winced, at least, giving Quinlan a sense that he didn’t like the conclusion as much as Quinlan.

“Most likely, yes. Her historical accounts do not seem to paint this as a normal occurrence. Abeloth had three Jedi right in her midst and yet she never killed even one when that is all she has done in the past.” Plo shook his head. “I do not have all the answers, Vos, but it was no coincidence that we were allowed to live and escape, even with the help of the Ones. She allowed us to leave.”

There was silence between them for several minutes, both feeling the hurt and anger that came with the knowledge of needless suffering. The realization that Abeloth had toyed with the entire Jedi Order and Obi-Wan in particular for no apparent reason was particularly hard to swallow. Plo felt a rock in his stomach at the thought of Obi-Wan lying on a surgical table for nothing.

“If she can take over one Jedi, she can take over many at a time, most likely. Why wouldn’t she just corrupt the Jedi en masse and uproot the Jedi from inside out?” Quinlan asked. “Why lure one Jedi away?”

Plo was quiet for a time, obviously in thought. The only sounds made were from the mask Plo wore, the rebreathers and other devices quietly whirring or puffing.

“I do not know…and I fear that scenario may come to pass. This was a test.”

“A test?” Quinlan groaned.

“She wanted to see if she could lure multiple Jedi to Homeworld.” Plo looked towards the window. “As we proved…she can.”

Both fell into uneasy silence.

“What did that guy tell you before we left Homeworld?” Quinlan cocked his head. “The bald, red guy.”

Plo’s pause didn’t give him good feelings. The longer the silence went on, the more Quinlan got the feeling that Plo didn’t want to tell him. A shallow sigh broke the moments of tension between them.

“Because of his brief time in the Pool of Knowledge, Obi-Wan now has the power of foresight, far stronger and more accurate than any Jedi Master. Had he stayed in the Pool much longer, he would have turned into something evil, like Abeloth. He would have been forever forsaken, which is why he was lucky to have been rescued with just the marks on his skin.”

Quinlan had to process that for a second. “So…you’re telling me he can see the future now?”

“Yes.” Plo re-crossed his legs and settled.

Quinlan laughed breathily and scrubbed his face with his hands, whistling.

“So I can see the past and he can see the future. How fitting.” Quinlan shifted uneasily. “I think I might take a long-term assignment after this…ordeal.”

“Of course. You may request that of the Council when you debrief them, if you wish.” Plo looked over to him, his expression hidden as usual. “But Obi-Wan might benefit from your presence in the short-term. He still cares about you, I should think.”

“I was sitting pretty on Tattooine with Aayla before all this went down, y’know, in Mos Espa.” Quinlan didn’t like where the conversation was headed.  “Wasn’t too bad, I was supposed to be watching one of Jabba’s associates but I ended up seeing a lot more of Skywalker instead. Couldn’t break cover, though Anakin said hello several times. I saw Qui-Gon for the last time, too. If I had known about everything, I would have broken cover and helped him out since my own mission wasn’t going anywhere. Never saw Obi-Wan, though, I hadn’t seen him since before all of this, before he grew attached to Qui-Gon at the hip…”

Quinlan trailed off, remembering Obi-Wan’s laugh. It was what helped him get to sleep at night traveling to such a cold, cruel world as Homeworld.

“Obi-Wan’s gonna be okay.” Quinlan laughed a little in response. “I’ve seen him jump off cliffs, nearly drown, nearly get eaten by creatures, break down in my arms from strain or exhaustion, yell in my face about how I needed to grow up…”

Plo rested a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder where they sat, silent and listening as was his way. Quinlan kept talking.

“And he survived everything that I or the galaxy could throw at him, but…Force, those times with Bandomeer and Xanatos and the Syndicat…life’s been rough for Obi-Wan and this just added icing to the cake. Somehow…somehow he keeps going.”

“And I am sure that he will do so now.” Plo nodded and squeezed his shoulder.

“We just need to give him something to focus on so his mind can’t get the best of him, y’know what I mean?” Quinlan raised his brows, letting the implication ring in the air.

“You mean to say that he should continue training young Skywalker upon his recovery.” Plo understood his meaning completely.

“Yeah. The kid was constantly asking about him when we weren’t visiting the Halls to see Obi-Wan before he escaped.” Quinlan’s smile faded a bit. “I think having someone to work with and to…care for, I suppose, might be good for him in Qui-Gon’s absence. It’ll help him have a new focus in life rather than to be listless and apathetic, especially until he can return to duty. Plus, Anakin only knew Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon anyway, so passing him off to another Master would be rude.”

“I thought the same thing.” Plo folded his hands into his lap, pressing the button on a remote to administer more of the helium and Dorin gas mixture he needed with a hiss of the apparatus. “Obi-Wan seemed to care for the child, getting to have someone to train will, indeed, help.”

“And…maybe when he’s better, I’ll talk to him about what we are. I still love him, even if he’s loved someone else he couldn’t have for a long time now.” Quinlan looked down at the stone floor beneath them and laughed, a hollow sound. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? Loving someone who left you, who treated you like you didn’t exist, and hoping desperately that they’ll come back now that their target of affection is gone?”

“No, Vos.” Plo replied quietly, staring out the windows in thought. “It is not. I loved my partner Pel long after I left Dorin. I had the feeling that he did the same, despite his animosity, and I wonder to this day if he will ever contact me again.”

The laugh Quinlan let out this time was a bit more genuine, if sarcastic.

“At least you get it.” Quinlan sighed, watching the sun as it started to crest above the urban horizon, obscured by buildings and speeders. “And hey…you don’t have to wear your ball-and-chain mask anymore. Seems to me like this new one is a form of absolution, I think.”

“…yes, I believe it is.” Plo agreed, seeming rather stunned at the depth Quinlan saw into the small mask.

“I saw a lot of pain in that old mask, old man. Wear the new one proudly.” Quinlan smiled. “Mou and Val would like Obi-Wan, I think.”

Plo smiled behind his temporary mask in return, feeling tiny spirits settle nearby with contentment rather than guilt rising inside of him.

“I think so, as well.”

_\-----_

There were no other patients in the private healing rooms, so the quiet beeping of Obi-Wan’s heart monitor was the only sign of life around when a Healer wasn’t bustling around. Obi-Wan wouldn’t wake soon and he had more surgeries to undergo, but Quinlan thought the pallor of Obi-Wan’s pale, freckled skin was already looking better. Perhaps being removed from Abeloth’s control was enough to bring him back quicker. Obi-Wan’s life signs were stronger, which was a promising sign. Still, it had been a week since they had arrived back on Coruscant and only in the last twelve hours Obi-Wan slipped into a healing trance. Quinlan had patience, even if it didn’t always seem like it. Standing around and waiting and listening for hours was something that normally was easy to do but now Quinlan felt restless instead of calm. He’d given his statements to Plo to pass on to the Council, telling what he had seen and recounted what trauma Obi-Wan encountered in as detailed a manner as he could stomach once the initial shock of their time on Homeworld had abated.

Now, he preferred to be here, waiting as patiently as he could be for Obi-Wan to wake.

“At least he’s alive.” Quinlan sighed and looked up at the vaulted ceiling. “I can still…”

_I can still kiss him when he thinks no one’s looking. He always loved that. The little forehead ones, especially. I can still sing him to sleep even if I sing out of key and he grumbles at me to shut up. I can still touch him, when he’s ready, if he ever is at all. I can live with it if he isn’t. He’s worth it, worth the trip to hell and back for him-_

“Haven’t seen you in a while.” A hand clapped his shoulder, making Quinlan jump and spin around.

Garen Muln, his arms crossed and a small, crooked smile on his face, his helmet under his arm.

“Sorry about the startle. How are you?” He asked kindly.

Quinlan shrugged. “Healer Che says he needs his space, but I say that’s bantha fodder. If I keep standing here outside of his room, I’m sure she’ll stop protesting my presence eventually.”

“I asked about you, not Obi-Wan.” Garen sighed. “Come on, let’s go inside and you can tell me how you’re holding up.”

They both entered the suite. Quinlan was mostly inured to what he saw in the bed, taking his customary spot next to the head of the bed. Garen, however, sobered up quite a bit once he really got a good look at Obi-Wan, eyeing the marks on still hands that rested above the thick blankets. He didn’t approach until Quinlan gave him a quizzical look.

“He’s outdone himself this time…” Garen breathed, taking a spot by the computer, setting his helmet down on the stool.

“This was done to him, Garen, make no mistake.” Quinlan replied protectively. “This isn’t like anything that’s happened before.”

“What could have done this?”

“A monster.” Quinlan shuddered at the memory of what he witnessed. “I don’t want to think about her.”

Garen’s eyebrows raised. “Was she like Jenna Zan Arbor or something? Some kind of mad scientist?”

“Yeah…” Quinlan’s eyes traveled down to the duralaminate beneath his feet, trying to forget how accurate that was. “Something like that.”

Both sat in silence. Quinlan realized quickly that just as was the case before Obi-Wan’s departure, the Council didn’t want the true nature of Obi-Wan’s disappearance to be made public. He assumed that once Obi-Wan fully healed, the matter would be tightly sealed in the Archives forever.

“So spill, how are you doing?” Garen watched him carefully.

Quinlan shrugged. “Everything feels like I’m in a dream. Like I’m going to wake up and smell the caf one day and nothing happened.”

“What are you gonna do?” Garen asked, curious.

Quinlan stared out the window. “I’m gonna leave. Do other stuff. Just…not be here.”

“And for now?” Garen cocked his head.

“I’m gonna do what I do best…beat up some thugs in the lower levels of the city until Obi-Wan’s better and then get off this kriffing metal rock for a while once he’s on his feet again.”

Garen snorted. “You know, you shouldn’t ignore him. He still cares about you.”

“Maybe I’ll go to Tattooine after, the jobs out there are great.” Quinlan frowned down at the duralaminate floor as if it had displeased him. “Or somewhere where there’s sun, I prefer a tan…”

Snickers escaped Garen as he shook his head, letting the subject drop. “You shouldn’t ignore me, either.”

The two of them talked mostly small talk for a while until Garen left to meditate, leaving Quinlan alone. For a time it was nice, the peace and quiet helping his frayed nerves. After that time, the silence became deafening and even the gentle beeping of the heart monitors Obi-Wan was hooked to weren’t enough to leaven the heavy feeling of emptiness in the room.

Despite the vital signs, only one person was truly alive in that room right then.

\-----

_Pain…hurts, so much pain…_

_Too bright, feel sick-_

_Get up…have to run, have to run-!_

_Not gone, not gone, never gone-_

He tried jumping away, though he only had the strength to roll. She wanted him, he knew that. He could feel her piercing grin without seeing it. He had to keep moving or else he’d be caught again.

His stomach roiled at the thought.

“Obi-Wan!”

A voice shouted through the static in his ears, though it was barely audible over the static in his ears. He didn’t care.

_Doesn’t sound like her but-_

_Have to leave, have to get out-!_

“Obi-Wan?!”  

_Still hurts, hurts so much-_

He didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust the speaker, but if he didn’t answer, he’d feel more pain for sure. He couldn’t run and the thought sent panic lancing up his spine.

“Nnn…” he croaked, his throat too sore and cracked for anything more, shaking his head slightly with a pitiful whine.

_No no no no have to get up have to run-_

There were busy footsteps and beeps from somewhere close by. Quiet muttering. Someone taking his arm. He shook the hand off, crying without tears. Many hands on him, a needle in his arm, a clear pinpoint note of pain amid the chaos. Obi-Wan only barely registered what was going on around him, so paralyzed with fear as he was.

_Is it Qui-Gon doing this-_

_No. Not Qui-Gon. He’s dead. Doesn’t have many hands._

_It’s her. It has to be. It’s always her. She has as many hands as she wants. She’s given me something…_

_I have to see…don’t want to see, have to know, have to-_

Obi-Wan blinked the burning, bright light from his eyes. He wasn’t on a forest floor on a monochrome planet. He wasn’t held high above the ground by a vine in his stomach. He wasn’t surrounded by sand and trees and _her_ and-

_I’m with the Force. It’s the only answer._

The room was warm, a stark contrast to the cold chill of the monochrome planet. The walls were gentle hues and sunlight, precious yet hated sunlight, came through the large windows through blinds. He was in a bed, the sheets and blankets soft to the touch and the mattress positively downy.

_Like the one in the master bedroom. Like the one she-_

Medical equipment surrounded him, a mask even on his face, all attached to a computer which must have been the source of the beeping.

_She didn’t have computers…_

It looked like he was in a hospital room, sterile and cold, which eased his mind. Perhaps he was done with everything. Perhaps his torture had stopped at last and he could rest in peace.

A strange flower sat in a vase on the bedside table.

_Qui-Gon grew those flowers-_

_No…she grew those flowers._

_She’s here._

A sharp inhale sent him into a fit of coughing as fear washed over him. Rolling over and trying to escape the bed, afraid of what would happen if he stayed in it, Obi-Wan felt his strength, what little of it he had, drain instantly. The coughing roiled his already uneasy stomach and sent him into bouts of dry heaving, only hurting his throat further as acidic bile dripped from his lips. Blossoms of pain from his entire torso flared up as he tasted the familiar tang of metal in his mouth.

_Get up, you worthless cur, move!_

_She’ll hurt you again!_

_This is all a trap, a trap, you fell into it, you idiotic-!_

“Obi-Wan?” The same, unfamiliar voice asked carefully before more footsteps bustled away. “Bant, get in here, now!”

If he had the energy, Obi-Wan would have started trying to escape again. He felt the energy leech out of his bones with each heave and cough, leaving him a spasmodic mess. If she wanted to toy with him, he couldn’t even try to flee like this.

_Perhaps I should just let her do it._

_I’m not worth saving._

“Obi, Obi, can you hear me?” A different voice spoke now, odd hands heavy on his shoulders. “It’s Bant, Bant Eerin, remember?”

_It can’t be._

_She wouldn’t bring her here._

_This can’t be real._

“L-Li-ar…” Obi-Wan growled between heaves.

_I’ll kill her-_

_You can’t kill her, you can’t, you can’t-_

He couldn’t breathe, his breaths coming in shallow bursts. The metallic taste dripped off of his mouth as he shuddered violently, no energy left in him for even dry heaving.

“D-Don’t…hurt…her… “ He moaned pitifully. “Pl-Please…I-I beg you…”

“Obi, I’m going to lay you flat on your back and place your oxygen mask back on you.” The second voice soothed, though he felt no less anxiety. “Can you cooperate for me?”

_I’ve done so many things for her-_

_This should be easy._

He went slack, as she wanted. The mask was replaced on his face, which let him take in gulps of air once more. His lungs only filled partially but it was more than he’d been able to do. His vision hazed in and out of focus, turning his head to his other side to see who spoke to him.

The pinkish, non-humanoid shape seemed familiar enough.

_It is her…_

_Bant…_

“Let me give you your dose of painkillers, it’s close enough to the right time.”

She had a slim figure, definitely aquatic, and he watched as she bustled around the tables where the medical equipment lay.

_It doesn’t look like-_

_She could be anyone…anything._

He soon felt sweet relief as the pain dulled into a haze. When a hand pressed what felt like a wet cloth to his lips, he didn’t have the energy to flinch away. Instead, he suckled at it like a pitiful babe, the water so precious that he’d forgotten he’d been missing it, his cracked lips rejoicing at the moisture. When the cloth left, the cold mask returned, giving his lungs a bit of ease even though he whimpered at the loss of the cloth. His body shook, his anxiety not entirely gone but dulled enough to where he couldn’t focus on it.

“Shh…it’s okay now, Obi. I’ll give you more water in a little bit.” The first voice spoke as a hand pet his hair. He flinched weakly and the hand left. “You’re safe, I promise. No one will hurt you here.”

_Qui-Gon said that._

_She said that._

_Lies._

\-----

The Council chamber held its collective breath as Plo walked in, Quinlan in tow, taking his customary seat beside Mace as Quinlan stood by the door.

“Awaiting a more official report from Healer Che,” Mace opened to begin the meeting, “How is Obi-Wan doing?”

Plo crossed his legs and placed his hands below his chin in his customary position. He wasn’t used to speaking so much within the Council as he’d been within the past weeks.

“I just came from the Halls. I am afraid his mental state is much more damaged than his body is.”

Master Rancisis cocked his head. “How so?”

Plo felt the eyes on him and looked toward Quinlan, who gave a half-hearted shrug. It should have been obvious, it seemed obvious to the two of them, but apparently the Council didn’t see things the way they did.

“He seems to be healing well, physically, now that the power slowing his healing has dissipated days ago.” Plo answered earnestly. “Still, he seems to show all of the symptoms indicative of and normal in those who have experienced severe trauma. Most notably, from brief ventures into Obi-Wan’s mind, he had recognized Abeloth for who she truly was once Qui-Gon’s spirit was no longer in use by her and her presence became known in earnest. Unfortunately, that led to his realization that she could take any form and, therefore, views all of us as potential threats.”

“Much like he did before.” Yarael scowled.

“Yes, but…” Plo started.

Several Council members spoke at once, though not without merit, and an undercurrent of muttering began. Plo was dismayed to hear many of his fellow Council members share unkind sentiments about Obi-Wan. Though they had anticipated Obi-Wan’s mental state to be fragile from the trauma, this was an angle altogether unfamiliar.

“Bear in mind that we have not experienced such a thing before. Obi-Wan needs support in this time, not derision borne of a lack of information.” Plo raised his voice as much as he was able. “Keep your judgements civil, at the very least, lest they be unbecoming of Jedi.”

The careful, calm redirection quieted the room. Several of the others projected feelings of remorse, likely for their thoughts on the matter, which Plo was glad to sense. Fear, especially when dealing with a force in the galaxy such as Abeloth, wasn’t easy to avoid. Plo understood why such an unseen threat could have turned even wizened Jedi Masters toward more harsh sentiments. Still, fallible as they all were, this was not the time for judgement.

“He goes from combative to utterly submissive during medication treatment, seemingly at random. He tolerates us better than he does the Healers, but when has Obi-Wan ever not reacted that way?” Quinlan finished, shrugging his shoulders. “Perhaps the distrust will simply fade as we show him we’re genuine. He doesn’t call us impostors, so that’s a start.”

Mace sighed and rubbed his face. “So…we’re back where we started?”

“Yes, essentially.” Plo shifted in his seat to face him. “This time, however, he can be rehabilitated whereas before, he was unable to be helped due to the Force psychosis. He has tried to hurt himself several times but never harms anyone else, be it Healers, their apprentices, or visitors. I fear he has been conditioned to harm himself out of contrition by Abeloth.”

Murmurs went out among the Council members and Plo sat back in thought. It was very hard to paint Obi-Wan in a positive light now, given his behavior before his escape to Homeworld and since. Plo simply tried to emphasize what differences there were in Obi-Wan’s behavior.

“We’re putting you in charge of Kenobi’s mental recovery and progress, Master Koon, as you seem to have a connection with him that none of us have.” Mace studied the floor before looking up at him. “You and Vos are both very good friends to him and if he’s having trust issues, he may warm up to those he trusted before quicker than others. We’ll have the reports from Healer Che, but…it’s good to hear reports from a non-medical perspective.”

Plo nodded and the meeting adjourned. Mace hastily pulled Plo aside as he was about to leave, letting Quinlan stay where he was.

“I want you to know that we’ve decided this might be in your best interest.” Mace continued. “By letting you help Obi-Wan heal, this may help you as well as him. You three are close, closer than probably is wise for Jedi, but…in this instance, Obi-Wan needs all the support he can get if he’s going to heal in body and mind, even if that means…bending the rules temporarily to give him the space to do so.”

Plo didn’t miss the knowing glance Mace had sent towards Quinlan, who just nodded resolutely with a small smile. Whatever conversation had passed between the two of them, Plo assumed it must have been successful.

“We will report back to you with any changes, Master Windu.” Plo bowed and led Quinlan out of the room.

\------

Obi-Wan picked at the bowl of food he’d been given, having only taken a bite or two of the mush. It was mostly nutrient material, comprised of what was found in ration bars, and it was just as patently disgusting as ration bars themselves. Still, Quinlan sat next to him, watching carefully with eyes trained on his spoon as he idly pushed the slop around. It was no secret that he had to be forced to eat. The Healers said his stomach and intestinal tract had healed well enough for him to start eating solid food, but the very concept after so long without any food at all left him queasy.

“I’m not hungry.” He protested half-heartedly. “I’m fine.”

“Come on, Obi-Wan, you have to eat.” Quinlan prodded, ire starting to rise in his tone. “They’ll put the IV in you again if you don’t.”

His lungs were still weak but he didn’t need the mask anymore. That didn’t mean his laugh wasn’t hoarse and grating.

“I don’t feel real. None of this does. This slop, this room…” He put the bowl on the bedside table and eyed his arm.

“Not even this.”

He ripped out the IV administering his pain medication with stubby fingernails easily. Quinlan, on his part, simply tutted and set the bowl on the tray the food had been delivered on.

“You’ve always been a bit of a show-off, Kenobi, but this is ridiculous.” Quinlan sighed and stretched out his legs once he sat down again. “You’re gonna start to hurt in a little while and you’ll be miserable. Leave the theatrics to me, okay?”

Obi-Wan frowned, becoming frustrated as he watched blood flow sluggishly from the wound. He didn’t see. There was no difference between being alive and dead as long as he felt pain and she was out there. As the blood reached the dark markings, the light of the room became blinding, making him whine.

“Quinlan…” Obi-Wan hated how weak and shaky his voice was.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan’s voice was worried. “Obi-Wan, what-”

_A crowd of children, clad in dirty clothes, huddled near the few adults that tended them in what looked like a weapons factory. The adults whispered about a dying war, all clad in shabby, unfamiliar Jedi clothing that looked as if it had gone through war. For many adults there, it seemed, theirs had._

_The Force signatures in the building all projected fear and despair, which the younglings fed on easily. The din was intolerable, children crying or screaming all hours of the day and night.  One, a small boy with red hair and freckles, stayed quiet. He had a friend, a tentacle friend he couldn’t see, that loved him like Mama did. Everyone had the same friend, it said, from the little kids to the big kids. Not the grown-ups, though. It didn’t like them._

_“Mama!” He giggled toward nothing. “Mama!”_

_“Ben, there’s no one there…” One of the adults sighed as she settled another child back into bed. “Who are you talking to?”_

_“Mama.”_

_The woman rubbed her face, wondering what other response she expected from a two year old._

_“Ben…go to sleep.”_

_“But-“_

_“Sleep.”_

_Ben grew sleepy just then out of nowhere, but he didn’t fall asleep without his tentacle friend hugging him despite being invisible._

_“I love you, Ben.” It said. “I always will.”_

_“Love you, Mama…”_

Obi-Wan came out of the vision less in a panic and more in confused numbness.

“That’s the third time today.” Obi-Wan whispered, his voice ragged and torn from the destitution he’d seen.

Quinlan sat down in his chair and held his hand out on the bed, though he brought it back when Obi-Wan failed to take it. Obi-Wan felt his skin cool and become clammy. He twisted the blanket in between his fingers nervously as they sat in silence for a time. He stared at his arms, one bleeding profusely now, and trailed them down the tentacle-like swirls that twined up his skin as the realization hit him.

He knew the _friend_ in the vision even if he didn’t know the starkly familiar child. He knew what she was going to do next even if he didn’t know the Force-sensitives in that room.

_She’s going to prey on children._

Whatever little Obi-Wan had in his stomach, it wasn’t there long. Quinlan comforted him even as he cried while being cleaned up and having his linens and clothes changed by a Healer. He didn’t want them near him but it was necessary.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay…” Quinlan’s deceptively calming voice cooed. “I know how it is, seeing stuff you don’t want to see. I’ve had this happen before and you know it. It’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan wanted so desperately to believe him, hiccupping through his tears, but something broken inside of him told him that couldn’t true.

Nothing would ever be okay again. Quinlan was lying to him.

_He had to be…right?_

\-----

Plo pushed Obi-Wan along in the chair he occupied, watching his charge carefully. Obi-Wan was staring into the distance, vacant and quiet. Marred hands curled around the edges of the chair’s armrests, fingers gripping tightly enough to make the skin lighten imperceptibly. A vision, one of the ones that kept Obi-Wan up at night and exhausted during the day. They all had seen Obi-Wan slip into them and emerge, most often in distress. Now the Council wanted to see this power and see how far it could go, much to Obi-Wan’s disdain. He’d protested as much as he could before simply going quiet as the Healers maneuvered him into a hoverchair, the vision taking over.

_“You’re here to bring me to the Council, to make me perform for them, aren’t you?“_

_“Perform is not the right word, Obi-Wan.”_

_“Either way, I’m not visiting them for tea and cookies, am I?”_

The Council chamber was very sunny and comfortable that morning, light pouring in from the windows that fell on all those who attended. Pushing the chair into the room, Plo looked down when his comm blipped. He listened to the message from Healer Che, reminding himself of the small hypospray that he kept on himself in case of emergency. Obi-Wan gave no sign of surfacing, however, so there was little chance for trouble. He didn’t like Obi-Wan’s pallor that day, though. It had been a week since he’d awoken and this was the first one where Obi-Wan looked genuinely worse. Those sentiments seemed to be shared by the other members.

“Ah, brought him here, you have.” Yoda shifted in his chair.

“Yes, though I believe he is also somewhere else at the moment.” Plo sighed and stood with him. “Rather unfortunate timing, but we cannot control his visions and he is not ready to control them himself.”

“We can discuss other matters until he wakes.” Mace gestured to Plo’s customary seat.

“Of course.”

No one initially noticed when Obi-Wan came out of his vision judging by how quiet he was, sitting by Plo’s chair. The faint tremor turned into a fully-fledged cringe as Obi-Wan moved his chair away from Plo’s.

“Obi-Wan?” Plo turned to focus his attention on him while the other Council members discussed between themselves. “What did you see?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, mute through tears, and shied away from him.

“Obi-Wan?” Mace now noticed and the rest of the chamber’s attention shifted accordingly.

Watery green-blue eyes looked up at the room, desperation clear in his expression. “I-I can’t…”

“We understand, Obi-Wan.” Mace’s expression softened nearly imperceptibly. “The gift of foresight is not easily borne.”

Obi-Wan’s expression hardened respectively. “You think this is a gift?!”

“Useful, you can be. Returned, the Sith have, and growing in strength, they are.” Yoda said. “See the future, you can, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Powerful, you are.”

Obi-Wan considered that and, to the Council, appeared even angrier.

“I find it disturbing that of all that you could glean out of this mess,” He spat, his voice gravelly from lack of sleep, continual stomach issues, and raw emotion. “You’ve gained a source of _information_ in me _.”_

“We care about you, Obi-Wan, but there’s a bigger picture, too.” Mace leaned forward. “With Qui-Gon’s death-“

“Yes, yes, there’s a new threat on the rise to the entire galaxy.” Obi-Wan snorted derisively and maneuvered his chair closer to Mace’s. “I can’t exactly give you the day and time of a battle or skirmish and what its outcome will be.”

“We know-” Mace started, but Obi-Wan held up a hand.

“I can give you this, though, if you want it.”

Obi-Wan carefully schooled himself into an aura of peace. Everyone felt uneasy at that swift change. The Council watched as Obi-Wan struggled to his feet before a wave of emotions washed over them. They all realized that Obi-Wan was showing them his vision and allowed him to access their minds.

_“We have reached Cato Neimoidia, prepare to-“_

_Ships swarmed from behind, firing at the unfamiliar blue and white ship._

_“Stop firing immediately, that is an order!”_

_“Yeah, and we have ours, traitor.”_

_The ship weaved in and out of buildings and structures, skillfully piloted, but the evasion couldn’t go on forever. A blaster hit impacted the ship after several minutes, making the ship explode into a burst of charred shrapnel. No sound came from the Jedi as he was ejected into the icy vacuum of space. A ship returned, blasting bits of rubble to vaporize them. The badly burned, barely breathing figure clinging to a piece of hull plating was looked over, however._

_Plo Koon would be buried in the void of space, forgotten as his breathing wheezed to a standstill over the course of hours._

_Children’s laugher rang out in the empty void which morphed into a harsh, rasping bark no one recognized-_

Everyone startled out of the vision as tattered shields were brought down, noticing that Obi-Wan no longer stood by his hoverchair. Instead, he clung to the open doorway, trembling as fresh tears trailed down his cheeks.

“I’ve seen it.” Obi-Wan’s voice wavered as he glared daggers into Mace. “Plo’s not the only one who dies like that. I see the ruin of the Jedi, not the success. If you want to know about how Jedi die throughout the generations, I can be of assistance. So far, I haven’t seen one good thing come of this “gift” and I’m not about to sit here until it happens because I might become one of those casualties…and I don’t wish to see that outcome.”

Obi-Wan left the room in an agonized, unstable gait. The Force could change, could lie, but…what they saw of Plo’s demise felt too real to be uncertain. So it seemed that the rest of the Council agreed with each other as their eyes followed Plo.

“We have to do something.” Plo straightened himself up in his chair, pushing the knowledge away for the time being. “Those visions will break him if he is not carefully trained.”

“Guide him, the Spirit Healers can.” Yoda leaned on his cane. “Teach him to control the visions, to control his reactions, they can. All we can do, that is.”

“Go find him, Master Koon.” Mace sighed. “Make sure he is returned to the Halls, safe and sound.”

Plo nodded and stood, pushing the hoverchair out of the room, trying not to ponder his death nor how fitting a death that would be for him. Luckily, he spied Obi-Wan, collapsed by the spire turbolift doors, whimpering and holding his chest. Dull, watery eyes looked up at him with a pitiful expression of recalcitrance. Plo felt his heart sink at the sight.

“I’m sorry…” He whispered. “I-I can’t…”

“It is alright, Obi-Wan.” Plo merely lifted Obi-Wan up from the floor and helped him into his hoverchair. “You were upset. No one blamed you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were cast downward at the floor as Plo maneuvered them into the turbolift.

“No…I can’t save you.”

Obi- Wan’s frail form trembled in his seat. Plo placed a gentle hand on a thin shoulder, expecting the jump but not the lack of a struggle to move away. If anything, he felt Obi-Wan lean into his hands as he rested them on his shoulders. The tears that came were silent ones, Obi-Wan’s tattered shielding projecting how helpless he felt the more death and destruction he saw. Plo paused the turbolift and let Obi-Wan cry in privacy, hoping that the Force could convey the amount of care and empathy he felt where words weren’t necessary. The sun was

In the midst of Obi-Wan’s tears and among the doubt for his own abilities and surroundings, Plo felt fear-laced pangs of compassion and love rise once more in a man who held entirely too much of both for his own good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna even try to promise regular updates at this point, as midterms and eventually finals are coming around the bend. Please bear with me, folks. Also, I'm now reading the Fate of the Jedi series and while I'm only at the point where they're JUST introducing Abeloth, I'm already thinking I got some inaccuracies but also I have different headcanons for her than the trio of writers do. I may end up rewriting this at some point, but I may not. I got a lot of things accidentally right without reading the series, so there's something.
> 
> Also also, I'm taking a first aid course so I felt I had to show correct first aid procedures at the beginning, so pardon if it seems a bit too medical. The Baran-Do techniques apparently are mostly done for healing and some minor stuff like boosting comm signals avoiding brain scans, so you can't tell me that if Plo can act like a human(er, Kel-Dor) Wi-fi range extender and block MRI scans with his electromagnetic energy, he can't act as an AED unit.


	9. Where Real Life and Dreams Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Obi-Wan returns to his life, he finds it's not the one he left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is it! This is the last chapter! A fic a little over a year in the making, it's finally done. I thank everyone who kept going this long, even if I only posted the first chapter in May. I thank Wombats_Echo for being patient with me while I whined on and on about this beast of a fic. It wasn't even two or three chapters to start with and was a completely different concept but now it turned into this behemoth. 
> 
> No real warnings, whatever badness there is has been gone by now. Still, for those who may stumble upon this here, check the tags!

Obi-Wan flinched as the neuro-cardiac monitor was fitted onto his temple by Healer Che, though he didn’t protest further. She gave him a disappointed look, which he understood clearly. He should have gotten over his fear by now, after slow weeks of progress and healing. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t forced to hide his reactions but it wasn’t exactly encouraged to show them either now that he was to go back to Jedi meditation and rehabilitation. Now he had to listen to the deluge of information Healer Che had for him, though Obi-Wan only partially listened, choosing instead to listen to his thoughts.

“You’ll have a restricted diet for some time as your stomach is still uneasy and healing. You should avoid more than light katas for exercise but you should start to exercise to regain your stamina with daily walks around the Temple so that you can get back to duty sooner rather than later…”

_You’ve become a burden. You can’t ever be a Jedi like this._

“The monitor will be used, in part, so we can track dangerous neurochemical imbalances or unstable heart rhythms. Its primary use is for you to help you develop a sense of when your blood pressure is too high, whether it be due to stress or…”

 _I don’t want the monitor…but what choice do I have?_ _I still panic sometimes, I still think about her…_

“…and you still have to return twice a week for a physical and a check from the Spirit Healers to see how your mental progress is improving, which should start to…”

_I don’t want anyone in my mind…but I have to let them if I’m going to heal._

_I don’t want to heal if it means to remember everything…_

“…and I think that’s about it. If you ever need to come back, the Halls are always open to you, Obi-Wan.” Che smiled. “Do you have any questions?”

Obi-Wan snapped back to attention, glancing nervously over her face for any upset and finding none.

“I…one question, madam.” Obi-Wan bowed his head. “The…markings, you couldn’t…?”

He shuddered with revulsion as he gazed at his hands, his delicate freckles marred by scarring and the dark veiny marks that snaked up his arms and legs. A Jedi wasn’t to worry about their appearance to an unhealthy extent and he couldn’t be an exception to the rule. Still, when a Padawan, no more than a teen, eyed his hands as he’d been walking around the Halls, landing in the main wing devoted to minor injuries, he was mortified with himself.

Her voice echoed in his ears, though he fought to remain planted to his spot on the bed.

**_“Those Jedi took you from me and I was so angry…”_ **

**_“You hurt me, Obi-Wan. You left me before I could love you…”_ **

**_“All I wanted was revenge. And I shall have it.”_ **

“Knight?”

The shrill ringing Obi-Wan heard in his ears was the monitor beeping on his temple.

“I-I’m fine, Healer Che, I just…”

Obi-Wan trailed off as familiar symptoms appeared. His vision blurred and he felt as if the world had been tipped on its axis, pitching forward slightly. He felt clammy, nauseated, faint.

“Obi-Wan?”

Her voice shattered over him, making him grip the edge of the bed as his head felt like it split open-

_The boy squalled in his arms, seeking food he didn’t have and couldn’t give as he tried to sleep in the cramped bunk of a small shuttle bound for his new permanent residence. His clothing still bore the singe and burn marks of his failure and the loss of all those he loved. He was loathe to let the boy go and break his promise as he shifted on his back, the boy resting in blankets on his chest._

_He would find no sleep for days to come._

_The boy screamed on._

_“Just…a few hours, Luke. You can wait just a little longer…”_

_His voice was cracking from how much he’d yelled before, still smelling the ash and sulfur on his clothing. He tried to soothe the child with Force calm but to no avail. He was too weak, not calm enough to soothe his own hurts, let alone someone else’s. Every throb of his head reminded him of how every Jedi was gone. All of them. The silence in his mind tore through him like a bullet and hurt worse than the screaming in his ears._

_The screaming continued._

_The silence continued._

_He screamed in his head._

_Blessed, blessed noise-_

Obi-Wan surfaced to find himself on the cold stone, a familiar presence hovering over him as his hands turned to a sickening gray from being clenched so hard into fists. He was unable to meet Che’s eyes as he slowly sat up and stood, trying to regain his composure. Seemingly, Che wasn’t bothered, even helping him back on the bed and checking his head for injury.

“Is…there _anything_ you can do for these markings?” Obi-Wan whispered, only able to stay relatively calm after so many visions. “They…they don’t help.”

“Unfortunately not, Obi-Wan.” Che extended a hand once her brief look-over was done. “We weren’t able to trace any inks or dyes in your skin, meaning…”

Obi-Wan eyed the hand. He took it and brought himself back to his feet.

“That she changed my skin.” He finished. “That something in the water…”

“I’m afraid so, Obi-Wan.” Che held his hands. “She didn’t get what she wanted, though, did she?”

“No.” Obi-Wan mused. “No, she didn’t.”

“You can do anything you want now, Obi-Wan…” Che smiled and patted his unshaven cheek kindly, ignoring the flinch when he didn’t seem upset by it. “Except you really do need to leave the Halls and get some sunshine, it’s a wonderful morning.”

Obi-Wan snorted, a tiny smile coming to his face as he felt disused sarcasm returning. “Are you asking me to leave?”

“Telling you, actually.” Che started for the door, pausing by the threshold. “There’s fresh Knight clothing in the bathroom, clothes one of your friends brought over. Feel free to take your time changing, but I’m afraid you don’t need me or my Halls anymore as a residence.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Back to the stern formalities?”

“Indeed.” Che replied. “I don’t want to see you dying in here for a long time, Kenobi.”

“You won’t, I promise you.”

Obi-Wan felt nervous as she left, moving to get dressed in traditional Knight tunics. He could wear whatever he liked but he seemed to show a preference for the traditional. The dark swirls on his skin contrasted sharply with the beige as he tugged the fabric over his skin, ignoring how his hands gave away the illusion of Jedi purity as he inspected himself in the mirror.

“…I’m just going to let it grow out.” Obi-Wan mumbled to himself as he looked over his overgrown stubble and longer hair that barely rested lower than his ears. “Beats the old look.”

\-----

The last time he was here, he had written what was, in hindsight, very likely his own suicide note.

Obi-Wan’s breathing quickened as he ignored the familiar thought that she could be anywhere. It had gotten easier in recent days, though he glanced around the empty hallway nervously before his eyes returned to the keypad to their… _his_ quarters. He typed in the entrance code and rushed inside, his airways feeling as if they wanted to close. He sank to his knees and tried to slow his breathing, lest the monitor on his neck alert the Healers. He took deep breaths like the Healers taught him to do, reciting the Code which brought him calm in the past.

“There is no emotion, only peace.” Obi-Wan muttered nervously. “There is no ignorance, only knowledge. There is no passion, only serenity. There is no chaos…”

He choked back a sob, lifting his gaze to shift across the room, taking inventory. The space was clean and tidy now, the living room back to its prior status. While there were notable things that were missing, his possessions were almost entirely repaired or replaced. The destruction that he remembered was gone. Qui-Gon’s things were still where they were, including the menagerie of plant life sitting near the big windows in the living area. Obi-Wan rose from his knees and carefully padded across the room to the bedroom, noticing just how many plants his quarters held. As he tried touching the leaf of an exotic lilac, his mind supplied the image of the plant withering under his fingertips, brown spreading along the leaves until the lilac wilted and died. It was no hallucination, Obi-Wan simply knew how bad he was with taking care of horticultural needs.

“I’ll have to find homes for them, I suppose.” Obi-Wan sighed. “That’s…what he would want.”

Books and datapadds, repaired and replaced on the bookshelf, waited to be read again. The one at the bottom of the shelf with familiar leather binding, weathered with age with a dark stain on the spine, had been conspicuously removed. Obi-Wan was fine with that, he never wanted to see that journal again lest he recount the horrors of what drove him to his own near death. He found the mantle instead, half expecting the pictures to be of a green-haired child and her then-innocent guardian behind her. Only Qui-Gon smiled in the pictures, eyes crinkled in happiness in a way that used to make him feel giddy. Obi-Wan hastily turned the frame to face the wall, feeling sick revulsion bubble up in him at that all too familiar smile. More pictures, like one from his sixteenth birthday, greeted him. Qui-Gon smiled up at him again and again, the last one on the mantle even more difficult to stomach.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

Obi-Wan turned each and every picture frame to face the wall, trying hard not to remember the memory of that photo. It had been his nineteenth birthday, he recalled.

_“Happy birthday, Obi-Wan.”_

_Qui-Gon held a small cake out to him. As he leaned into take it, he felt a warm, scruffy kiss press to his cheek._

_At that same moment, he heard the familiar snap of Quinlan’s holo-camera._

_“Oh, that’s the perfect shot!” Quinlan smiled behind the device._

_He felt his freckled cheeks blushing and heating up. He knew the kiss was just a friendly formality, even though Jedi weren’t supposed to do such things._

_He thought about that mouth later on that night, in the privacy of his room, as the start of something he already knew was futile to begin with._

Obi-Wan turned away from the mantle, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. Nausea curled in his gut at the thought that he once held any affection or lust for Qui-Gon as well as how he must have pushed Quinlan away with his silly, yet obsessive crush. Tears wetted his eyes as Obi-Wan realized that he probably could never regain what he’d once had and lamented at what he _did_ have. Looking around, he realized that their shared quarters held so many haunting memories that had the life and soul sucked out of them. How he and Qui-Gon would sit on the couch every evening and watch the holo while he studied. Some nights they would sleep there, too exhausted to even move to their beds. Others they would turn the holo on, then off for some peace and quiet, talking about this or that when sleep wouldn’t claim either of them. Those were some of the most abrasive nights, often mired in anger or hurt that could hardly be contained at such an early hour.

_“I apologize, Padawan.”_

_He sat on the couch, flipping through a book on biotechnology, disinterested. Qui-Gon stood behind him, far too close for comfort. His fingers rifled through the pages as he tried to ignore how tall Qui-Gon was behind him._

_“Again.”_

_Qui-Gon’s guilt flowed freely through their bond._

_“You didn’t have to get involved-“_

_“Didn’t I?” He said scathingly. “You were hardly in a state of mind to start thinking rationally!”_

_“You’re right. I wasn’t.”_

_The affirmation only made him more frustrated. He threw the book onto the caf table haphazardly and stood, weaving his way around the couch. Even if Qui-Gon stood nearly a foot taller than he did, the residual anger that flowed through him was enough to bridge that gap._

_“Obi-Wan, breathe-“_

_This wasn’t his, it was the bond sending him residual feelings from Qui-Gon. That didn’t mean the anger wasn’t real._

_He shook his Master by the tunic, grasping at it like a lifeline, and yelled in his face. All the things he felt ever since he was a young teenager, trying to grasp at Qui-Gon’s coattails to become a Jedi, came bubbling to a head. He couldn’t breathe, as if something had turned into a vise around his windpipe. He fell to his knees at Qui-Gon’s feet and gasped. He couldn’t do this, feeling the world around him warp with tunnel vision._

_What was killing him wasn’t this anger, he knew, but something more insidious that wouldn’t let him go. He didn’t want to call it what it was, yet it felt identical and all too confusing. Tears sprung to his eyes as strong hands gently lifted him from the floor. He wanted and despised Qui-Gon’s touch. He was pulled into an embrace, which made his revulsion and want worse, as his breathing turned from panicked gasping to teary hiccups._

_“I’m not supposed to feel this way, Master…” His voice felt weak and wavered dangerously. “I’m sorry…”_

_“What do you mean, Padawan?” Qui-Gon replied quizzically._

_I love you. You’re my world. Your eyes are beautiful, your hair, your body. I want you to hold me, kiss me, touch me, make me-_

_He couldn’t say the words. He knew they would only hurt more. He’d said them to Quinlan before he pushed him away. He said the same to Satine before he was forced to make a choice. He couldn’t keep saying the words, they’d lose all meaning one day._

_“I…nothing, Master.”_

_“Then perhaps you need rest.”_

_“Yes, Master.”_

As he scanned his quarters, he avoided the main bedroom, instead opting to lay down in his old bed. The model starships still hung from his ceiling, something he’d refused to take down even into adulthood, which he stared at as he laid down onto the soft surface. Then his eyes fell on a comlink, painted in blue and obviously well-worn.

_“Qui-Gon, look what I made!”_

_He bounded up to his master while he was drinking his afternoon tea, holding two comlinks covered in paint. He himself was covered in much the same._

_“Oh goodness, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon smiled. “You’ve made a mess.”_

_“Well, our training bond isn’t there yet, but I thought that our comlinks were boring. So hey, I painted them for us.” Obi-Wan returned the smile gleefully. “What do you think?”_

_“I take it the green one is mine?” Qui-Gon cocked his head._

_“Yeah! And the blue one is mine.” Obi-Wan offered the green one to him. “This way, we won’t lose ours and if we do, we can find them.”_

_“How proactive.” Qui-Gon took the comlink. “I’ll keep it forever.”_

Obi-Wan fell asleep knowing that he’d find a green comlink in Qui-Gon’s bedroom, equally well-worn.

\-----

“How many here did I hurt?” Obi-Wan asked reluctantly, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Only yourself.” Plo watched his reaction carefully from his chair. “No one else was harmed.”

Obi-Wan let out a sigh of relief. He stood in front of the Council, having listened to their debrief of the rescue effort. Granted, he remembered nothing at that point, so the descriptions weren’t as painful.

“The issue of your reinstatement as a Jedi is still in discussion among us.” Mace continued on. “Though we’re in agreement that you can return to duty, when that might be is still uncertain. Your progress over the last few days outside of the Halls has shown to be…stagnant.”

“Master Windu is right, Obi-Wan.” Ki-Adi nodded sagely. “Your ability to cope with the visions is improving, as well as your physical health, but…your emotional state seems to be at a stand-still. The Spirit Healers claim you have difficulty in trying to cope-”

“Apologies, Masters.” Obi-Wan couldn’t manage to look either of them in the eyes, instead gazing at the traffic outside of the windows. “I would rather not discuss such things in such an open forum as this.”

Mace and Ki-Adi exchanged a concerned glance but left the matter alone. One of the most pervasive things that Obi-Wan had shown in the last few days was a particularly stubborn willful ignorance he’d developed. He’d gotten back into a routine of light meals, meditation, and exercise, not unlike most recovering Jedi, but he seemed to be doing little to come to terms with his endeavor and seemed to be content with it.

“I can’t live here forever.” Obi-Wan continued. “I know it’s only been a few days since I left the Halls but I’m going stir-crazy.”

“You’re not ready to return to duty, Obi-Wan.” Eeth reminded gently.

“I know, but…if there’s something I can do while Temple-bound, that would be lovely.” Obi-Wan folded his hands into his robes. “Give me something to wake up for.”

From where Plo sat, contemplative, he realized Quinlan was right. Obi-Wan needed something to latch onto lest he drift away. His progress had halted and now he floundered trying to find meaning and direction.

“I believe I have a suggestion.” Plo spoke to the room.

“Yes, Master Koon?” Yoda asked. “Speak, you may.”

“Perhaps Skywalker could be of some benefit to him.” Plo steepled his fingers over his knee. “He is not yet ready to leave the Temple either, so Obi-Wan could begin to train the boy for when they are ready to go on duty once more.”

_Train the boy…_

Obi-Wan could have kissed Plo on that damned metal mask if he didn’t have his boundaries and control back. That was a perfect idea!

“…Master Koon, how can someone still relearning control and the Jedi way possibly teach?” Eeth scowled.

“Kenobi is still vulnerable with his visions.” Ki-Adi added.

“They can learn together. It is not impossible.” Plo replied. “We should allow them to try.”

Obi-Wan looked around the room as it began to pick up in quiet debate, realizing that there wouldn’t be a clear answer for a while. For just how long, he didn’t know, and the Force wasn’t giving him any insight when he needed it.

\-----

“I still think I’m there, in some ways.”

Quinlan sat with Obi-Wan in his quarters, just listening. It was the middle of the night, during a nice sleep when Quinlan heard his comlink chirp. Obi-Wan’s voice wavered dangerously enough that he felt he had to rush down the hallway to Obi-Wan’s door in nothing but sleep pants. He knew that tone and knew he had to help.

“I sleep on the floor some nights, curled up in the corner. Sometimes I dream of Qui-Gon and other times I dream of that grin…and those eyes.” Obi-Wan explained in a dull monotone, his tears having ended minutes ago. “Sometimes it’s Qui-Gon causing the pain in my dreams, other times it’s her. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between my dreams and reality. My arms or legs or chest will hurt when I wake up, this blinding pain that I try to suppress as best I can…”

Quinlan nodded, letting Obi-Wan speak as much as he needed to.

”Sometimes, I dig cuts into my skin in my dreams, trying to remove it. I almost do, flaying myself open, but something stops me before I can.”

“What stops you?” Quinlan asked quietly.

“You-“

Obi-Wan took a shuddering breath and paused. Dark teal fingers tightened on the windowsill he clung to. Quinlan could feel his ruined shields start to repair themselves but they weren’t strong enough-

_Screams surrounded him as he worked, the sounds of slaves being lashed mingling with the sounds of shovels and hammers, the collar around his neck chafing severely as it was too tight…he felt his breathing become restricted, nearly passing out several times during his work but a man with shaved, blond hair always kept him upright._

_“You can rest later, sir, don’t worry.”_

_But he couldn’t. Others would be hurt in his place. Others would always be hurt._

_Hopefully they would be saved. Could be saved._

Quinlan knew what that was, lamented at the fact that the familiar red hair was tousled and dirty, that the face that greeted him in the present would become that one, gaunt from suffering. From the aura surrounding them changing, Obi-Wan must have known he’d seen it, too.

“…what stops you, Obi-Wan?”

There was a pregnant pause before Obi-Wan rested his forehead on the transparisteel in front of him.

“You kill me so I can stop suffering because it’s all I’m ever going to do.”

Quinlan winced at the quiet, matter-of-fact statement.

“You know I wouldn’t.” Quinlan gently reminded him.

“I know.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I suppose I should be lucky.”

“Why is that?” Quinlan dared to pipe up.

“Because I…because I’m not there anymore.” Obi-Wan replied succinctly. “And you’re not the one trying to hurt me.”

The silence hung heavy over the room, Quinlan sitting on Obi-Wan’s bed while he stayed in the corner. They both shifted uncomfortably once the silence lasted a bit too long.

“I still wonder if you should have killed me on Homeworld.” Obi-Wan’s voice weakened. “I dream of it, obviously. Aren’t dreams what we desire?”

“Obi-Wan…” Quinlan began.

“It’s not as if I have anything else.” Obi-Wan turned toward him with a fire in eyes that he hadn’t seen since before this entire ordeal began. “Anakin’s the last reason I have to stay here in the Order and he’s not even guaranteed to be my Padawan. He’s keeping me from abandoning the Order to try and find some other life somewhere else. Nobody wants me here, so I mostly stay in my quarters. People stare at me when I travel around the Temple, they look at me like I’m a…”

The choke in Obi-Wan’s throat was accompanied by more tears, though Obi-Wan’s voice stayed strong.

“Walking around the Temple with him by my side might redeem me in the eyes of everyone else and he’ll give me a reason to stay.”

Quinlan didn’t have the heart to tell him that everyone wanted him to heal and become a proper Knight, not when he’d heard the whisperings in the Temple these past few weeks. While the Council and some others viewed him as completely benign and on the road to becoming a Knight once more, there were many Jedi that felt he was touched too much by the darkness. They thought he would turn any day, any week, and that he was a liability even staying in the Temple. Even if he wasn’t acting on the Force psychosis anymore…it wasn’t unreasonable for him to think they viewed him as a monster.

“You haven’t lost everyone, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan turned from the window. “You should have left years ago, before everyone else…I was a right bastard.”

“Can’t shake me off that easily, Kenobi. You know that.” Quinlan smiled, kicking back on his bed. “For starters, I’m staying here tonight. Your couch is absolutely amazing.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes, red-rimmed and with the remnants of shadows underneath them, couldn’t detract from the small smile Quinlan got.

“I don’t deserve you.” Obi-Wan’s voice wavered again but no more tears seemed to be forthcoming. “Need a blanket?”

\-----

A loud shout that came from the front entryway startled Obi-Wan as he froze in panic from where he sat on the couch, reading one of his fiction novels that he hadn’t touched in years.

“Master Obi-Wan! You’re back!”

Obi-Wan whirled around, not expecting to be tackled by a nine year old as his legs were crushed in a fierce hug. Obi-Wan wasn’t sure of what to do, looking up at Quinlan for unspoken explanation.

“Master Koon in the creche was done teaching him reading for the day, so he wanted to hang out with me.” Quinlan replied. “And I heard the Council’s verdict, so…”

When he tried to flinch away, Anakin’s arms only held him tighter. Obi-Wan looked towards Quinlan for assistance.

“Easy, Anakin. Obi-Wan’s been through a lot.” Quinlan came up and rested a hand on Anakin’s thin shoulder, smiling at his friend. “Looks like Anakin’s yours to train, Kenobi, since I convinced Plo to steamroll the Council one way or another.”

“Well that’s impressive.” Obi-Wan snorted. “I always thought trying to convince him of anything was like herding loth cats.”

“I think he’s warmed up to me. You can thank me later when Anakin’s thirteen and mopey like you were. Luckily, Aayla’s very down-to-earth for a teen so I hit the jackpot.”

“I’m not gonna be mopey!” Anakin chimed in, though Obi-Wan’s careful hand on his head quickly assuaged the protest.

“Did you teach her to bypass keypads and security protocols, too?” Obi-Wan pointed out rather snidely.

“She knew how to do it before I even came along.”

Quinlan’s charming smile changed to an apologetic one before laughing, a hearty sound that made Obi-Wan’s heart feel a little less sunken.  He missed Quinlan’s laugh, he realized, more than he’d thought previously.

“Apparently, so did he.” Quinlan looked down. “You know a lot, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh!” Anakin nodded eagerly, smiling. “Watto taught me. He said it was important for getting into impounded speeders.”

To Obi-Wan, it felt like years had passed since they had landed on Tattooine. His whole sense of time had warped since returning to Coruscant and he found himself sleeping during the day and panicking during the night in the Halls, or vice versa, depending on the day. Sometimes he took many naps during the day and night, sometimes he rarely slept at all. He was told the whole incident, from his return from Naboo to returning from Homeworld took place in only the span of a few weeks. He was sure that months, if not _years_ went by on Homeworld. Time felt ridiculously slow here and he couldn’t get used to it.

“Please don’t do that again. Privacy is important, after all.” Obi-Wan half-smiled, petting Anakin’s hair.

“Okay, Master.” Anakin let go of Obi-Wan’s legs and smiled up at him. “I’m glad you’re home. I kept asking about you and they said you had left on a mission.”

“Anakin, Obi-Wan wasn’t-“ Quinlan started.

Obi-Wan stepped in front of Quinlan and knelt down to Anakin’s level. He didn’t want Anakin to know yet, if at all.

“I did go on a mission to find Qui-Gon, but it failed.” He explained. “And I got hurt very badly as a result.”

It wasn’t a lie in the strictest sense. Even so, Anakin’s skeptical expression meant he wasn’t fooled.

“How’d your hands get like that?” Anakin pointed to the one not resting on his head. “Are they tattoos like Quin’s?”

Quinlan glanced at him but Obi-Wan ignored it.

“Yes, they’re like Quin’s tattoos. They’re a part of the injuries I got, as well as my forearms, feet, and calves. Sometimes…the more you know can hurt you.” Obi-Wan tried to imbue as much truth into his lie as possible. “Anakin, get settled in your new room for a moment while Quinlan and I talk.”

“Which one’s that?” Anakin tilted his head.

“The one across from the big bedroom. It was mine and has my things there, but…we can change things around later.”

Anakin nodded and ran to the bedroom. Obi-Wan’s heart broke a tad at the excitement, as Anakin surely had nothing like this on Tattooine, as sparse as the space was. He turned to Quinlan.

“Why didn’t Plo take Anakin on?” Obi-Wan asked. “Did he ever say?”

Quinlan exhaled and ran a hand over his locs.

“Not really, though I suppose I could glean some conclusions. The guy has a soft spot for you a mile wide, even before all this went down, remember? He wouldn’t let you hop about the galaxy miserably and do mindless missions alone. Besides…the issue of his kids aside, I think he thinks he’s just too damned old to chase after a small child nowadays. Battle is one thing, but child-rearing seems to be beyond his years. I don’t think he ever had any intention of taking him on, really…Anakin isn’t his kids.”

Obi-Wan trained his eyes on the wide window where all the greenery sat, thinking.

“I might just let this grow.” Obi-Wan rubbed his face tiredly, which was now more than stubble, short hairs rasping against his fingertips. “Might make me seem distinguished.”

“I could see you with a beard. You looked like a teenager without it. Your hair’s already grown out a lot in only a few weeks.” Quinlan knew it was the accelerated time of Homeworld that did it but deigned to say anything. “Kind of time you ditched the Padawan look, don’t you think? Start fresh, do whatever you like.”

“I suppose…” Obi-Wan’s fingers instinctively reached behind his ear where his braid used to be, frowning at the slight pucker of scar tissue as he changed the subject. “Know anyone who would like a Sullustan cacti?”

Quinlan turned to face the window, smiling at such a nice day. “They remind you of him.”

“You know I’m shit with plants, Quin.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and rested his arms onto the sill.

The silence between the two grew heavy with unspoken concerns that neither wanted to delve into at that moment. Still, both knew they needed to be said.

“Hey…you can talk to me if you’re upset, remember?”

Obi-Wan would have shot him a scathing look at the condescending tone if he felt like he could. As it stood, Quinlan had all right to be worried about him. He knew he wasn’t fully functional yet, feeling more akin to a droid performing self-diagnostics.

“I don’t just miss him. I fear him, Quin.” Obi-Wan cursed his voice for going so weak. “I can’t look at photos of him anymore. What he…what _she_ did…I can’t separate him from it. _He_ hurt me, even if it was her who did it.”

Obi-Wan made his way over to the couch and slumped onto it, resting his head in his hands. Quinlan, in a rare show of silence, sat next to him and simply wrapped an arm over his shoulders. This time, Obi-Wan didn’t flinch, gazing at his hands-

_Hands mottled with tiny scars and wrinkled skin, arthritic and unfamiliar, wrapped around a worn lightsaber hilt, standing strong against a tall, dark figure cloaked in black…_

_“Strike me down and-”_

“Sith hells! I just don’t…I don’t feel normal, Quin. I feel like I can’t get back to normal no matter how much I imagine myself here or on missions or anything. I’ve been changed and I don’t…”

Obi-Wan glanced over at his friend, who was now equally as deep in thought as he was. Normally Quinlan was never this thoughtful, always preferring to be brash and enjoyed spontaneity. He lived in the moment, never so introspective as he was now.

“Look, Kenobi.” Quinlan continued after a couple moments. “You know I’m not the really wise advice giver, but…you can only build a new life after something like this. I saw it all the time with the people I watched. Terrible things happened to them, but…they bounced back, sometimes stronger than before, sometimes weaker but with experience that shaped them going forward, for better or worse. They created something out of the ashes of what they left behind and continued with the knowledge that they survived. Sometimes that’s all they could live for.”

Quinlan shifted uncomfortably. Obi-Wan watched him as he clearly tried to choose his words carefully.

“You’ve lost a lot lately and you don’t have anyone to guide you from here, but…you don’t need it. You’ve always been independent. Just know that…people are here for you if you need them.”

Obi-Wan had to admit that Quinlan was right. He no longer had Qui-Gon here to guide him and to pine over like a teenager. Hopefully, in time, his fear would fade and he could look upon the pictures once again. He didn’t feel like he deserved the love Anakin so easily gave to him, not after all that he’d said and done to the boy after having been pulled from Tattooine’s harsh society. He didn’t deserve Plo’s affection, near favoritism in fact, even if he was just a tool to help the man cope with death. Even Quinlan’s love for him hadn’t dimmed over the years even when it should have died entirely. He could feel just how much Quinlan wanted to be with him again, even after all of the times he’d snubbed him for others that became passing phases.

Obi-Wan knew he didn’t deserve any of this, but he would be dead before he’d give it all up again. Raising his face, he looked over to Quinlan, feeling quiet tears on his cheeks.

“I’m right here, little bird.” Quinlan smiled gently. “I always have been, even if you couldn’t see me.”

Something clicked. He’d felt a familiar presence on Tattooine, aside from Qui-Gon and Padme’s minds. From inside the ship, he could still feel…

“I don’t deserve you…”

“In my defense, I was sent there a while before you showed up, remember?” Quinlan chided, his arm tightening slightly around his shoulders in a hug.” It’s not stalking if the Council orders you to the same sandy rock you also landed on by happenstance.”

Obi-Wan laughed and it felt odd. Freeing.

“Right, that’s your excuse.”

The moment almost felt nostalgic, the two of them snickering like young Initiates. Unfortunately a loud crash from the bedroom broke them out of their reverie. He knew the sound well.

“My model starships! Anakin, no!”

As Obi-Wan ran off to investigate the clatter, he saw Quinlan smile and make his way to the door. He left Obi-Wan feeling something he hadn’t felt in years.

Love.

Hopefully, one day, he could share the same feeling again with him.

\-----

The meditation gardens were nearly deserted save for a few elderly Masters traipsing through to other destinations. Obi-Wan had found Anakin preferred the outdoors rather than staying inside, particularly once the weather warmed a bit. He decided taking Anakin outside for their lessons would be a good idea, though he might have overestimated just how much the boy would like the gardens.

“Anakin, please get down from there.” Obi-Wan sighed as Anakin sat precariously high up in a tree. “I’m trying to teach you to focus.”

“But Master, I’ve never seen these before!” Anakin cried happily. “They’re huge!”

“And you can explore them once your lessons are done.”

“But I want to stay here!”

The more he thought about it as Anakin’s face fell, the more Obi-Wan understood and remembered that such flora was entirely foreign to Anakin. This was a learning experience in itself. He smiled a little as an idea popped up in his head. It wouldn’t harm the learning process and, in fact, it might help to hone it. He needed to get his physical strength back now that his weight had returned to normal and his stomach had healed completely, so it was worth a shot. He’d done it so many times as an Initiate when the crèche masters weren’t looking that even his breathing and heart rate wouldn’t be a bother.

“Well…if you’re not going to come down, I guess that means I’ll just have to climb up then.”

Obi-Wan looked for the strongest branches and mentally planned a route upwards. He wouldn’t be able to sit in the branches where Anakin sat, at an adult’s weight as he was, but it was something. Anakin grinned down at him when he realized what was happening as Obi-Wan gripped a branch and began to climb.

“You’re coming up here to sit with me?” He asked excitedly.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan huffed, climbing up another branch. “I can teach you to focus up here. Besides, Master Qui-Gon, he…he used to hang upside down from tree branches while teaching me sometimes.”

Anakin motioned to try it and Obi-Wan hefted himself up onto the branch he decided to sit on. “Don’t.”

“Aw…okay, Master.”

Anakin grinned proudly and Obi-Wan got the feeling that he’d just planted a likely dangerous idea in his mind.

“Qui-Gon did it because it helped him focus.” Obi-Wan continued. “His ties to the Living Force meant he would live in the moment and it let him meditate in whatever position he wanted.”

“So kind of like I do?” Anakin settled on a branch and wobbled a tad. Obi-Wan’s heart skipped a beat. “The only time I thought about the future was if there was gonna be a podrace coming up.”

“Yes, just like that.” Obi-Wan nodded. “Qui-Gon always said that living in the past or the future would cloud one’s mind to the possibilities right in front of them.”

Anakin didn’t reply immediately, staring at his boots. Obi-Wan gazed upward, concerned. “Anakin?”

“So…” Anakin’s voice was quiet and carefully leveled. “Sort of like you do, then.”

The silence was understandable. Obi-Wan knew Anakin was still afraid to say anything negative regarding the adults around him. For all of his silence, however, Anakin was devilishly perceptive and Obi-Wan refused to lie to him after all he had been through.

“Yes…yes, I suppose I do.” Obi-Wan smiled up at him after a few moments of thoughtful silence. “It’s not all bad, though. It means I can look forward to teaching you, Anakin.”

The levity helped Anakin to smile again, albeit shyly. Obi-Wan’s heart swelled as he continued on teaching where he was. Eventually, the lessons devolved and ended up with Obi-Wan teaching Anakin how to hang upside down from the branches anyway. Anakin learned to dismount perfectly but Obi-Wan, out of practice and still fairly weak in the arms, fell into a bush below. Both ended up laughing as Obi-Wan stood up covered in leaves.

As they headed indoors as the Coruscanti sun dipped below the industrial horizon, he paused to send one thought out into the Force. He wasn’t sure he wanted to open himself up again so soon, nor that the thought would even reach its intended destination. It felt like so long ago that he had been pulled into the mess he’d nearly died in, yet in that moment he was hyperaware of his hands, dark spirals hidden under cloth.

Still, he had to try, the familiar fear rising up in him.

_I miss you…I wish I could talk to you again._

Obi-Wan turned back to the garden at the behest of the Force and he nearly cried out right then and there. It was only there for a few seconds, but they felt like minutes. Qui-Gon’s form faded into existence, blue and translucent, and sat on one of the low benches. He caressed one of the orchids he’d had moved to the gardens carefully. He turned in Obi-Wan’s direction, gave a sad smile, and gestured to the orchid before fading out of sight with nary a sound.

Obi-Wan wanted to call out, but it would do no good. Still, a warmth that he hadn’t felt in nearly months now filled his chest.

_He’s been there this whole time. I’m not crazy. Maybe I am. He really is a ghost, like he said, and he was here with me and I couldn’t talk to him but he was-_

“-there!”

“What?” Anakin turned around.

Obi-Wan blinked and shook his head, a warm smile on his face as he placed a hand on Anakin’s back softly.

“Nothing, Anakin. Let’s just go inside.”

\-----

_I saw you today, you know. I suppose you can’t fully manifest yet, though I don’t know why. I’m getting better. I don’t flinch as much when people touch me or make loud noises in my presence. I can’t control the visions but I’m becoming able to simply process them as they come. I haven’t improved in everything, though. My skin is ugly…I don’t think that’s going to change. I have to force myself to open my eyes when I bathe. I don’t have to like them, but ignoring they exist won’t help._

_I think about Anakin these days. He’s growing fast, his weight has come up, and he’s still a very fast learner. He’s reading well, too. I think he trusts me again. Quinlan says he never lost trust in me to begin with but it’s hard to imagine. He’s so kind for a boy from such circumstances…he’s too good for me but he hates learning from anyone else._

_Master Plo seems to have gone back to normal, but there’s a small ounce of protectiveness I can feel through our small bond. We have tea once a week, a comfortable ritual we share now. I remind him of his children, based on something he told me during his time on Homeworld, and I’m willing to help him cope after all he’s done for me. He certainly seems happier in his new mask, since the old one had become painful to wear in many ways. I’m starting to think about Quinlan differently, like I did when I was barely old enough to shave. He didn’t have to help me, yet he was willing to throw himself into the Maw for my sake. I can tell he’s struggling with what happened…maybe we can work on this together when he’s not prowling the lower levels of Coruscant. I…I love him. I think. Like I used to before…you._

_I think about you, you know._

_I still love you, I always will, but…I have to move on. My grief and love for you was what made me vulnerable in the first place. It was the same with Satine and look how that turned out…we nearly died many times, I nearly died many times for her sake, and I had to hurt her by remaining loyal to the Order. In this way, I must do the same now. It hurts, that realization, but it’s one I must come to in order to heal. I was your Padawan and now I am Anakin’s master. That will have to be enough._

_I still want to talk to you, though. You’re there, a spirit detached from the Force and utterly alone…you should not have to exist in silence. I want to talk to you until you can respond. I’m not leaving you, Qui-Gon-_

_Wait._

_There was a feeling of cold…_

_I know you never liked me rambling on but I’m going to do it anyway. It’s…comforting. Nobody else knows you’re a ghost and I’m sure you’ll want some company while you sort yourself out. Stop gusting air from the air conditioning vents. It’s too cold for that. Quinlan’s going to get mad, you know he likes warmth. Yes, he’s staying here for now until his next mission. Stop being jealous, it’s only for a few days._

_Force, I’m crazy. Good night, Master._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you everyone for reading! :D I may end up re-writing this at some point, at which time I'll simply make a new upload rather than confuse this one, but it shouldn't be for a while.
> 
> A note on the pairing: I actually never intended it to end up as Quinobi, even if I like the pairing a lot. I don't generally write romance, as I don't think I'm good at doing so, but I wanted to try something different...admittedly halfway through the process and to give a reason for me to add Quinlan in as more of an important character than background friend(And not just stroke Plo's ego by how much I love the dude...he couldn't have taken Abeloth on alone anyway). Thus, I apologize if the Quinobi seems rather shoved in and, to my dismay, rather love triangle-y when it comes to Qui-Gon. Think of it more as teenage couple, then Obi-Wan's confused feelings for Qui-Gon interrupted that couple, then they reconciled in the end here.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'll say I have all the chapters written out, but my "editing" process takes a while since I want to keep tweaking this or that. I might not update quickly and I won't promise such, but I hope people will stick with me regardless. 
> 
> Tumblr: punk--kenobi


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